


Rising with the Fumes of Sighs

by Antiquity



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Volleyball Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 59,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26473621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiquity/pseuds/Antiquity
Summary: Nishinoya is always telling Asahi that he just needs to be a little more outgoing, a little more daring, a little less...Asahi, to make it through school in Tokyo, but when Asahi finds himself waking up the morning after Karasuno's National third place in bed with his ex-coach, he doesn't think that's exactly what Nishinoya had in mind.At least being wretchedly hungover negates his tendency to doubt, and he and Keishin emerge with their friendship intact. Because shy guys like him don't get nice boyfriends in the electric, eclectic, exhausting capital. He doesn't have time for what-ifs and if-onlys - even if everything he wants is back home in Miyagi in the crooked curve of a crow coach's smile.Asahi's so busy trying to force himself to be a new person in a new home that he forgets something fundamental about his old one: he's never alone. When you're on court, when it matters, you've got people beside you to help you keep the ball in the air.A story about growing up, moving out, and realising that sometimes home is where you left it after all.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi & Nishinoya Yuu, Azumane Asahi/Ukai Keishin, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ...If you're reading this, then firstly, thank you for clicking in and even thinking about giving this a chance! Just preparing the tags made nearly every single possible Asahi pairing pop up, including Takeda - except this one. 
> 
> I really like both these characters separately, and when I thought of them together on a whim, I just really liked the way they might fit and their possible dynamics (and Keishin talking to Asahi in a slightly different tone of voice - at least in the English dub, I know - is a headcanon you can pry out of my cold dead hands). I was whining to adayofjoy about being completely unable to get into Ukai and Takeda, and she looked at me through the screen from a state away and said, utterly deadpan, "Of course: it doesn't have a power dynamic difference."
> 
> I have never been so mortifyingly known in all my life.
> 
> Anyway. When I wrote this I was between jobs and feeling much like Asahi - unsure, directionless, and watching other amazing adults like adayofjoy and Ladyriver get their shit together. It's a story I felt I needed to tell, and I really enjoyed writing it. If you're gotten this far, I hope you enjoy reading it, just a little! There's an awful lot of sex at the end...just get through the pining first. And I have no idea how fashion study actually works, sorry!
> 
> Thank you infinity and all my love to adayofjoy and Ladyriver! Adayofjoy, who read it all while not even knowing who they were and saying she loved it anyway, and Ladyriver, who read it like 4 times, listened to me ramble and panic, and said..."Oh damn, I think I ship them now," when she finished, which is something I want on my tombstone. <3 <3
> 
> To anyone whose home is ahead or behind or near or far, I hope you find it with all the good fortune in the world.

Asahi wakes with a headache comparable to taking one of Ushijima’s spikes to the face and no memory of the night before. The curtains are open but the light is dim and grey, and a chill nips at his uncovered feet. None of this allays his first thought, which is, _oh no_.

Normally, it wouldn’t be too dreadful a problem. He’s twenty, he’s lived in Tokyo for more than a year, he’s been dragged to parties with friends and classmates and strangers for various celebrations – birthdays and New Years and I’m-bored-it’s-portfolio-week and we’ve-survived-our-finals.

Normally, though, he isn’t waking up hungover, naked, and draped over another body.

As a matter of fact, he’s _never_ woken up hungover, naked, and draped over another body.

_Oh GOD –_

Panicking, he goes to wrench himself away, instinctively rolling for the edge of the bed, but _ohno –_

Movement is a bad idea. A very bad idea. A terrible, horrible, absolutely awful idea. Asahi freezes and scrunches his eyes shut as his body threatens to mutiny. Don’t be sick, don’t be sick, _pleasedon’tbesick_ …

“Fucking hell...” moans his companion, roused by his abrupt movement.

“Oh my god,” Asahi whimpers, bringing one hand up to cover his face. He knows that voice.

“ _Asahi_?”

“Yeah,” he groans.

He feels Keishin jolt, Asahi’s head still resting on his ex-coach’s shoulder, but Keishin freezes instantly too, cursing under his breath. Clearly he’s realised like Asahi had that movement is a Very Bad Idea.

“What the _fuck_?” Keishin whispers instead. “ _What_ the fuck?”

Asahi wishes he knew. Somewhere in the back of his mind he has a feeling he knows a little, but in this sort of situation, the outside air frigid and his shoulder warm where it’s propped on Keishin’s bare chest, he’s torn between wanting to know the whole story and running away to a rice paddy in the middle of nowhere to live the rest of his life in blissful ignorance.

* * * * *

The sun is shining, the cherry trees are blooming, the birds are singing, and Ennoshita Chikara looks like he’s facing his execution.

“Kid, calm down,” Coach says. “They’re only first-years.”

Daichi nods encouragingly. “You’re going to be an excellent captain, Ennoshita. There’s nothing to worry about. And remember,” he smiles. “You’re not alone.”

Tanaka slings an arm around Ennoshita’s neck. “That’s right! Your vice-captain is right beside you.”

“Who says that’s not what I’m worried about,” retorts Ennoshita, but his stiff posture relaxes under Tanaka’s arm.

Hinata races over after a stray ball; Coach deflects it back to him. “Sorry!” Hinata yelps, and dashes back with it under his arm to argue with Kageyama. Nearby, Tsukishima rolls his eyes. Yamaguchi laughs.

Suga sighs. “They’re going to be so grown up when we see them next.”

“What are you, their aunt?” Daichi tuts. “And you, don’t cry.”

Asahi glares, trying to blink away the wave of sentiment cresting in him. “It’s not my fault! You can’t just say that and not expect me to react. We’re graduating, Daichi, finished and done, and everything’s going to change. Karasuno is going to change, we’re going to change, this is the last spring we can stand here in the gym and –”

He wheezes and doubles over as Suga drives the sharp edge of his hand into Asahi’s side. “What was that for?”

“Negativity be gone!” Nishinoya howls, appearing by his side. “Don’t worry, Asahi! Some things won’t change, like our two dumbasses over there!”

“Oh, like you and Tanaka aren’t ones to talk,” Ennoshita says, rolling his eyes.

Tanaka finally gives in to the elbow Ennoshita has been angling into his side and lets go, propping himself on Nishinoya instead. “We are the mighty kings of Karasuno, gracious third-years ready to share our wisdom!”

“Lord help us,” Coach mutters under his breath, grinning. He jerks his head at Daichi as Shimizu and Takeda-sensei appear at the door and they step over to meet them. Asahi and Suga follow, since this isn’t even their practice. Karasuno has to adapt to their absence, and though he doesn’t want to overestimate his own importance Asahi knows there are some holes the team will have to fill. The Wakutani match taught them that.

“I know we’ve talked about it,” Coach says, “but final choice for first-year tryouts?”

“A libero,” Daichi says immediately. “We need to train Nishinoya’s replacement.”

Asahi watches the blossoms fall from the trees, streaming away on the breeze. They’re only just graduating and already they have to think about the second-years graduating in turn this time next year.

“Definitely another setter,” Daichi continues. “We can’t rely so heavily on Kageyama when it’s highly likely he’ll be selected for the Under-19s again and be recruited for more training camps.”

“Relieving the pressure on any one player is always going to produce better results,” says Takeda. “We are a team, after all.”

“Besides,” continues Coach, “we’d need a substitute in case of injury.”

Suga adds, “Keeping an eye out for another tall spiker would be a good idea. Now Asahi’s gone, our block’s height has dropped, and Narita will graduate next year as well.”

“We’ve got our work cut out for us,” Coach agrees, but he looks pleased about it. “This year is going to be interesting.”

“Yes, I think it will,” Shimizu nods calmly. “Karasuno will rise to the challenge, like we always do.”

Suga elbows Asahi before he can say anything and Coach laughs. “Cheer up, man-bun,” he says. “It’s not like you’ll never see us again.”

“I know,” he says, taking the tissue Shimizu holds out. “But still.”

“And just to prove that the Karasuno crows can always fly,” Coach says, clapping his hands, “and since I know you lot can’t spend every waking moment training with the team anymore, let’s finish this properly.”

Shimizu is the only one facing into the gym and she blinks, mouth opening in a soft gasp as her cheeks pink. Astonished at the emotion, they spin around to see their team in their tracksuit jackets, even in this heat, even Tsukishima, arrayed around them. Yachi has something in her hand that she passes to Coach, and he takes it, nodding at Ennoshita.

“I think we’re pretty lucky to be able to say our last official game with you was at Nationals,” Ennoshita begins, and the team whoops loudly. “Still, we wanted to make the most of this last chance. You’re all going on to something new, something terrifying and exciting and completely different, and we wish you all the best of luck. It was an honour to stand on centre court with you.”

Asahi knows he’s crying, but there’s nothing he can do about it.

“On behalf of the Karasuno Boys’ Volleyball Club,” Ennoshita finishes in a shout, spinning around with the whole team to display their jackets’ kanji proudly, “Thank you very much! Goodbye and good luck!”

They’re all weeping now, all the graduating third-years and most of the second-years, and definitely Hinata and Yachi. Daichi gets himself under control long enough to say, “Thank you very much! Goodbye and good luck! We’ll be cheering every step back to Nationals and beyond!”

Coach laughs, sounding a little choked as well. “Pause the waterworks for just a moment. Your new manager designed something for you, as a goodbye present.”

“Hitoka-chan,” Shimizu says, sniffing and taking Yachi’s hand.

“It was an honour,” Yachi weeps, taking another tissue from the box Takeda has pulled out from behind his back.

“Sawamura Daichi,” Takeda says, and holds out a little keyring charm – their jersey, the rubber shape coloured familiar black and orange with Daichi’s number one on the front and a white crow with wings spread on the back. “Steady and sure.”

Tears streaming down his face, Daichi takes it and shakes both Takeda’s and Coach’s hands. This is worse than their last game at Nationals; Asahi is going to have a headache for a week and there’s going to be a swimming pool where the gym was.

“Sugawara Koushi,” continues Takeda, holding out Suga’s number two keyring, “our pinch-setter.”

For all that Suga tells Asahi off for sentimentalism, he’s pulled up his collar to cry into his shirt as he takes it and shakes their hands. Asahi doesn’t even know if he can move when Takeda and Coach turn to him.

“Azumane Asahi,” Takeda says, and Asahi feels Nishinoya’s hands shove in the small of his back to propel him forward. “The ace of the Karasuno Crows.”

“Chin up, man-bun,” Coach adds, laughing and patting Asahi’s back. “You’ll be alright.”

“Sorry, Coach,” Asahi hiccups, shaking his hand. Nishinoya has to drag him back and prop him up as he blows his nose, trying at least to get enough of his tears under control so he can see Shimizu.

“Shimizu Kiyoko,” Takeda finishes, handing over her keyring with an M emblazoned on it. “Without your excellent management, we wouldn’t have survived our away games and I certainly wouldn’t know half as much about advising a volleyball club!”

Shimizu cries quietly as she accepts the keyring and the handshakes, but then the team surges forward with yells and shouts – “Can we take the jackets off now?” Tsukishima complains, hanging back until Suga gets an arm around his neck and hauls him in – and only Coach shooing them out the door gets the graduates going without more time taken out of training.

“I –” Asahi sobs, straggling out of the gate after Daichi, relying on the hand he has around Suga’s bag strap to direct him.

“Yeah,” mutters Daichi, voice thick. “Looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” says Suga, rubbing his arm across his eyes.

“We’ll watch them again,” promises Shimizu.

“And we’ll see each other again soon too,” Suga adds, punching Daichi in the shoulder. “It’s not goodbye.”

It isn’t, Asahi knows, but he can’t stop crying until he gets home, waving to the others at the crossroads in the middle of town.

His aunt gives him a similar uplifting speech when she finds Asahi on the futon with a cold towel over his face, but the feeling of everything changing just gets worse. Next week he’s waving Daichi and Suga off at the train station, the former to the police academy in Sendai and the latter to Tokyo to start his degree in teaching. The week after that, he sees off Shimizu, who’s going to stay with her aunt in Hokkaido for the next half-year and take an administration course. A fortnight later, Asahi stands at his kitchen window and watches hordes of school students pass by, chattering with friends, excited and nervous and sure of their own routine while Asahi feels like one of the cherry blossoms on the wind, untethered.

Nishinoya appears at his front door after the first week of practice, normality amid newness. The itch in Asahi’s muscles tells him he should have been there too, but he listens instead to Nishinoya recount the opening ceremony and how the Vice-Principal mentioned the club, and how Mina from 3-1 got hot over summer and how Ennoshita is suddenly super popular thanks to being the new captain but refuses to make the most of it, and how Hinata and Kageyama already have a bet on how many first-years will run from Tsukishima.

“You still thinking of going to Tokyo for fashion design?” Nishinoya asks as he’s putting his shoes on.

Asahi picks at his fingers. “Yeah, I’d like to, but...”

“But?”

“You know me,” Asahi shrugs. Outside, petals are whisked away by the wind.

“Bullshit!” Nishinoya proclaims loudly, shoving him into a wall in what Asahi knows is encouragement rather than chastisement because the latter would end in a bruise. “You’re the ace! When it matters, it goes to the ace.”

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying, swept up in Nishinoya’s belief. “Yeah. I missed the first intake, but I’ll work for a few months and go in the September term.”

“Good! You’ll be here for Inter-High, then, so you can come cheer us on.”

“Of course I will,” Asahi says, holding the door and waving as Nishinoya bounds down the path. “Won’t miss it even when I’m in Tokyo!”

Sometimes, someone else’s belief is all you need when you can’t see the other side of the court for the blockers. Asahi learnt that all over again last year. So he finds a job with his aunt’s friend’s seamstress sister and starts learning what he can about fabrics, cuts, thread and design from Hatsume-san. She approves of his plan to prepare practically as much as he can before beginning the theories of design with his degree, even if the first few weeks are spent unpicking his botched attempts and watching shamefacedly as Hatsume-san redoes them.

He’s not being left behind, not really.

Many of his classmates haven’t moved away from Miyagi and he video-calls Suga and Daichi once a fortnight. There’s no reason for the restless, untethered feeling he got outside the gym that day to stick around, no reason at all. It shouldn’t mean anything that he doesn’t have a routine anymore, doesn’t have volleyball to guide him. Asahi still works out; still sees Nishinoya and hears about the team through him. There’s no need to worry at the feeling of spring slipping past and leaving him behind. Tokyo will still be there in September, he tells himself, when he stares too long out the window worrying at the threads between his fingertips.

It isn’t until spring is swinging into summer and the Inter-High prelims are a week away that Asahi actually sees anyone from Karasuno other than Nishinoya and Tanaka. He’s walking home after work on a Friday with his head in the clouds when he hears his name called.

Pulled out his thoughts, Asahi looks up and realises his feet have taken him past Sakanoshita.

“Oh, Coach!” he says, turning.

“You don’t have to call me that anymore, you know,” Coach says, falling into step beside him.

Asahi frowns. “What should I call you instead?”

Coach laughs, lighting a cigarette. “I mean, you can if you want. Otherwise, Ukai is fine.”

“Um, I don’t know...” Asahi trails off, biting his lip. “That reminds me too much of the old Coach Ukai. Uh, if you don’t mind, I mean! He was a great coach, but...”

Coach blows out a thin stream of smoke, grinning. “Fair enough. He’s definitely the crazy old crow coach. You can probably just call me Keishin by now, if you want.”

Asahi trips over a crack in the sidewalk and Coach grabs his elbow. Part of Asahi hopes that wasn’t the hand holding the lit cigarette; the rest is just grateful. Apparently it only takes a month off training and the last of his growth spurt to make him as wobbly as a newborn foal.

“K-Keish –”

Coach laughs again, not unkindly, and pats his back. It isn’t the hand with the cigarette, which is a load off his mind. “Asahi, it’s not that big of a deal. Don’t worry about it. I’m heading over for some dinner with Tattsun and Shimada, do you want to come?”

He knows most of the team calls Coach Ukai-san but something unfamiliar glows in the bottom of Asahi’s stomach as the warm orange light of dusk casts their shadows across the road. He might be stuck at home in the same town he was born in while Daichi attends his new police training camps, he might be the only one of the volleyball third-years to have no clear idea of what he’s doing while Suga moves into student housing and meets people from all over Japan and overseas, but suddenly he’s the only one able to call their old coach by his first name and make friends with old alumni who have probably felt like he feels.

Once an ace, always an ace. _Your job_ , he tells himself, _is to get through the walls_.

“Uh, are you sure that would be okay? I’d like to come, if, um, if Takinoue-san and Shimada-san wouldn’t mind, K-Keishin-san.”

He can’t quite smooth the last of the stammer, but it’s worth it when Coach – when Keishin stubs out his cigarette in front of the ramen shop and grins, smacking a hand on his shoulder. “Sure, they won’t mind.”

True to his word, Takinoue and Shimada welcome his inclusion readily, heckling Keishin for being a mother-hen unable to let a hatchling crow go. Keishin scoffs at them, stealing Shimada’s beer in retaliation. Takinoue shuffles over for Asahi, grinning, and the awkwardness he’d worried his age difference and unfamiliarity would create is swept aside by the fact that these two men have been Karasuno’s steadfast supporters since Keishin became coach. Besides, if the conversation lags, there’s always volleyball to fill the gaps.

“...Golden Week training camp was good,” Keishin is saying, finishing the last of his broth. “We’ve switched up the rotation, and it seems to be working well enough. Having Tanaka where you were, Asahi, gives us some flexibility, and with Hinata as wing spiker in Tanaka’s old spot…he’s fast enough to give us openings. Granted, he’s had some run-ins with the other spikers trying to get used to it, but the beauty of his and Kageyama’s quick is that they can be done from practically anywhere on the court. Ennoshita’s holding up well in opposite.”

“Does that make Narita the other starting middle blocker?” Asahi asks, nodding along.

“Well, either him or Yamaguchi, depending on Keishin’s mood,” Shimada grins. “We were still neck-and-neck with Nekoma in the practice games. We were at five sets each when they needed to leave for the bus.”

“Nishinoya told me about that,” Asahi says. “How was it without Kuroo-san and Yaku-san? He said the new libero was good at working with Haiba.”

“Nekoma is Nekoma,” Keishin grumbles. “Adaptable as always. Their setter is shrewd, but I think they were suffering without Yaku. Then again, without you and Daichi, we still hesitated against their blocks. I think Date Tech is going to be the team to beat this time. Their wall’s going to be difficult to get through without sheer power. Tanaka’s getting there, but he’s still lacking the height and the breadth to hit clean through.”

“Hinata’s quick doesn’t rely on power, though,” Takinoue says, helping himself to the gyoza. “We can get around, if we can’t get through.”

“I don’t know,” Keishin says, picking at the label in his beer. “That big middle blocker Aone is damn good at reading those quicks.”

“How about Seijoh?” Shimada asks. “They’re a bad match-up for us, even without Oikawa.”

“We played a practice match against them a few weeks ago and that double-edged sword number sixteen seems to be a starter now. If their new captain can handle him properly, once he gets going it’ll be tough for us. But they last four third-years; it might take a while until they settle.”

“How about Shiratorizawa, then?” Takinoue says. “Now Ushiwaka’s graduated, they’ve lost their greatest weapon.”

Keishin grins that wicked crow-coach grin. “We’ll crush them again, obviously. Going into the Inter-High, we are the best in the prefecture.”

“True,” says Shimada, “but we can’t discount them.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Keishin retorts. “They also lost the Guess Monster, but the setter is still there and the little bowl-cut was damn good at his straights. There’s no match you’re sure to win, just as there’s not one you’re sure to lose.”

“You sounded scarily like the old man, you know that?” Takinoue ribs him. Keishin flips him off as the table laughs, and Asahi hasn’t felt so easily included for a long time. It’s surprisingly comfortable, even though Suga and Nishinoya aren’t here to take the brunt of social interaction. But for once he feels like he doesn’t need a shield; if he’s silent, the other three have been friends long enough so they can talk without needing his input, and he can listen to things Keishin got up to when he was on the team.

Talk swings around work and the small inconveniences of daily life. Asahi finds that here, too, he has something to contribute: working with customers for the last month has given him some stories to share, even if he hasn’t moved out of home yet. Shimada narrates the ongoing saga of his electricity bill, and Takinoue and Keishin take turns describing the soccer club’s rampage in Sakanoshita; by the time they start gathering their things, Asahi is warm and full and only aware that he’d been lonely when he has company to compare it to.

Outside, he and Keishin say goodbye and turn left while Shimada and Takinoue turn right, and the conversation doesn’t really stop.

“...I didn’t know what to say,” Asahi confesses as Keishin laughs beside him. “Hatsume-san wasn’t back and I couldn’t tell her the zip was breaking when she tried to do it up. It wasn’t her fault, really, she was just...” he trails off, gesturing vaguely in front of him, hands wide apart. “I felt so bad...”

Keishin forces down his laughter as they pass by a group of elderly ladies gathered at the shrine but his shoulders still shake. “What did you end up saying?”

“That the stitches were crooked and I’d ask Hatsume-san about it as soon as she got back. I have no idea what she’ll do with it, but having just started is an excellent way to avoid awkward questions.”

“I’ll bet,” Keishin says, grinning. “Like being late on the coach’s first day?”

Asahi flushes. “I wasn’t late, exactly...” he hedges, shuffling his shoulders. “I made up for it, though, didn’t I? Straight through a triple block.”

“Not bad, man-bun. You know, you should come and play with the Neighbourhood Association again. You’re here for a few more months, right? Then join. Play with Tattsun and Shimada, and let the new first-years try receive your spikes.”

Asahi opens his mouth and finds he can only nod. Why hadn’t he even thought of that? Nishinoya had told him to come by, but training was for the team. Playing with the Association, though...wasn’t that the entire reason Keishin had set it up? So old alumni who still loved the game could play with people who felt the same?

“Yes, I will,” he says, smiling down at the ground. “You know, you still haven’t tossed for me yet. Are you going to play with the Association too, sometime?”

“Cheeky little –” Keishin grumbles, but he’s grinning. “We’ll see if you can get past Tsukishima first, with that attitude.”

“I’ll do my best,” Asahi says.

“Course,” Keishin says easily, and Asahi tries not to let the gratitude show on his face. “Hey, I was wondering, why fashion design? Don’t get me wrong, I think it’ll be interesting, but what made the ace of a Nationally-recognised volleyball team choose that?”

Asahi tips his head back to look at the few starts visible, considering the question. They get more stars out here in Miyagi than most big cities, but to get a real view they have to head into the mountains. “Well, I didn’t know what I wanted to do for a long time, and I had several different ideas to get the guidance counsellor off my back,” Keishin laughs along with him at that, “but...”

A few people have asked, with varying reactions – Asahi knows what his appearance suggests, and he knows how his friends sigh about his glass heart – so he only gathers his courage to tell the truth to people like Suga, Daichi and Nishinoya. But this is his coach, who got them so far: he can’t not.

“You know, it was actually playing Shiratorizawa that really confirmed it for me?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Asahi says, bringing his eyes down from the heavens to stare ahead. “You know that feeling, when you have your uniform on and your team around you, and you walk out to the cheer of the audience and feel like you can do anything?”

“Yeah,” Keishin says quietly, looking up at the stars in turn. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I want to design clothes that give people the same feeling,” Asahi confesses in a rush. “I want them to feel confident and proud and able to do what they choose when they put them on. I want people to feel like they can be their own ace, and like no iron walls can stop them.”

It’s silent for a long moment, unbroken even by a car passing. Then,

“Damn, we might have to commission our uniforms from you in a few years,” Keishin says, smiling and knocking an elbow companionably against Asahi’s. “We’d win with nothing but service aces.”

Asahi doesn’t know if he’s going to smile or cry; his face tries to do both and just blushes so hard he feels like he’s on fire. Fortunately, another crack in the sidewalk assists in the conundrum by catching at his shoe and threatening to tip him forward – Keishin grabs him again and this time the blush is of mortification, which Asahi is at least familiar with.

“Sorry,” he says, once he’s upright again, tucking his hands into his pockets. “When I’m off the court Daichi used to say I was a bad-luck charm. When we went to get our New Year’s fortunes before Nationals I got a curse, and Suga and Daichi got good fortune.”

Keishin groans in commiseration. “Yeah, I get those too. Must be the reason the alumni are all trying to set me up. Geez, call once for donation and suddenly you’re fair game for every cousin, sister, neighbour and co-worker. Anyway, at least you’re lucky on the court. I’ll add your email to the Association list and send you the schedule; we can probably organise a game against Karasuno in the next few weeks.”

“Don’t tell Nishinoya or Tanaka?” Asahi asks, stopping beside Keishin at a T-junction where he knows their paths diverge. “I want to see their faces.”

“You’ve got a deal, man-bun,” Keishin-san grins, reaching out to pluck a leaf out of Asahi’s hair.

* * * * *

Asahi slowly gathers enough concentration to shift a few centimetres off a muscled shoulder and onto the pillow. “I don’t know,” he mutters, “but don’t move.”

“Yeah,” Keishin rasps. “Freak out without moving. Good plan. What the hell happened?”

“I was hoping you’d know,” Asahi admits, not moving the arm he’d tossed over his eyes. Oh god. His soul is crumbling away inside him, horrified mortification threatening to consume all his collected confidence, but…wait...

A second, slightly more aware evaluation of his body reveals his boxers, and no trace of stickiness or soreness.

_Thank god_. Even if his head feels like it’s being targeted by a team of ace spikers, he can at least breathe a little easier. He’s never drinking again, is the only clear resolution he comes to. Something’s died in his mouth, it must have.

“I remember...drinking in the hotel with Specs, Tattsun and Tanaka-san,” Keishin says slowly, his voice low and rough and like nothing Asahi’s ever heard before, even after several cigarettes in a dim ramen bar back in Miyagi. The heat in his stomach at the sound is not new, even if he wishes otherwise.

Asahi forces his aching mind to go back as far as it can. Hazy memories swim into focus, golden hotel lights and over-heated cheeks as alcohol and people kept flowing past. “We were...drinking after Karasuno’s third place in Nationals...?”

“And Nekomata bought everyone a round of shots. Several rounds. Why the hell was he there? Scratch that, why the hell did I think drinking with Tanaka Saeko ever again was a good idea?”

“At least Yamaguchi got the team to bed before they could start crying again...Suga left early too, but I think I stayed with Shimada-san.”

Keishin jerks again, the mattress tipping slightly as his weight shifts, and Asahi coaxes the arm off his face enough to manage a bleary, one-eyed glance to where Keishin is propped on an elbow, staring at him. Keishin’s eyes are red-rimmed and his hair looks like he’s been wrapped in a volleyball net all night, the last of the blonde fading out of the tips and black overtaking the roots. “Can you even drink?” He sounds hoarsely horrified, and Asahi frowns.

“I _am_ twenty,” he says.

His birthday was eight days ago, but it’s probably best not to mention that.

Keishin groans again, flopping back and bringing both hands up to scrub at his face. Asahi spares a thought for his own hair before something in the set of Keishin’s mouth tugs at his chest.

“Keishin-san...we didn’t do anything.” Just implying it sends a hot flush over his cheeks. Is there even an implication to be made? He knows two men waking up in the same bed without many clothes on can be read in very few ways, but...

What if – what if Keishin wasn’t even thinking about that, and now that Asahi’s mentioned it he’s realising that it was a possibility? Will he hate it? The thought makes him feel just as ill as the pained twist to Keishin’s expression. “I’m not your responsibility anymore.” Why is he still talking? Panic makes a resurgence in his chest. “We’ll figure it out.”

This is nothing like the nerves he’d felt at Nationals, or stepping into his first classroom in the Tokyo fashion school far from home and friendless, or even the first disastrous time he went home with a girl. There’s something sharp and painful in his throat when he swallows.

“What the hell was I thinking?” Keishin mumbles into his hands. “You...”

Asahi holds himself so still he wonders if he could stop breathing for a moment, but it just makes his head throb warningly and his stomach churn worse.

“You had...a book? That you wanted to show someone...” Keishin says slowly, and his words ping some dusty lightbulb in the back of Asahi’s mind as relief floods his achy brain like a painkiller. He’s not angry, or accusing. “But you nearly fell over when you stood up and...I said I’d take you back to your room...”

A memory of the elevator flashes in Asahi’s mind: tilted close against Keishin, laughing about something that had happened on court, Keishin’s arm around his waist strong and sure. Red floods Asahi’s cheeks and it takes all his willpower, everything he ever gave to a back-row attack on match point, not to touch his lips.

“But whose room are we in?”

Asahi tears his mind away from that particular fragment of memory and looks around. He spots his luggage and the empty second futon by the window, and relaxes. Technically he didn’t need a hotel room, since he lives a few districts over, but Suga had convinced him, said it would be cheaper for both him and Daichi, he lived too far away, didn’t he think he’d drink a bit with the staff...as always, Suga’s prescience is vaguely annoying.

“Mine and Daichi’s…but I think he got a call from Michimiya? He left early last night, said he’d be back later today...”

“Makes sense,” Keishin says, and then Asahi, staring up at the ceiling, hears him take a deep deliberate breath. “But what am I doing here?”

Asahi’s stomach twists itself into a knot. He’s never been impulsive, like Tanaka, or self-confident, like Nishinoya. Keishin’s mouth had been warm and firm against his, only a faint scent of tobacco lingering on his skin and just a hint of bitterness under his tongue. Asahi doesn’t know why he’d bridged the scant gap between them, can only think he’d been buoyed by alcohol and bolstered by reckless courage gleaned from Kageyama and Hinata’s confidence that just because they’d lost didn’t mean anything was over, but he had. Held close in the circle of Keishin’s arm as the rattling elevator slowly inched upward, he’d kissed Keishin and clung close as he was kissed in return.

The warmth and pressure and scrape of stubble is a tactile memory setting his skin on fire, but Asahi can’t remember anything but that one kiss and toppling through this door. The lack of clothes paints a damning picture of his inebriated intention, but _surely_ he would know if they went that far, _surely_ he’d remember, _surely_ he’d be able to tell –? Does Keishin even remember the kiss? What had Asahi even been thinking? It’s one thing to fold away a secret appreciation warm in his chest, and it’s quite another to act on it!

…What happens in Tokyo, stays in Tokyo. Asahi had never thought he’d be the one grateful for the maxim, instituted after Hinata drank too many energy drinks to spite Haiba and threw up all over the cafeteria floor in his first year, but here he is, confusion swirling in his head and a friend waiting apprehensively for his answer.

Be the ace, someone to be relied on when all the chips are down.

“If your head is anything like mine,” Asahi says, making his voice light as he looks at Keishin, “we had a lot to drink. A hundred yen says we passed out here. Didn’t you say last time that Takeda-sensei snores when he drinks?”

A laugh is startled out of Keishin before he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shh, don’t make me laugh, my head is killing me...when will I learn that Nekomata is going to outlive us all and dance on our graves? I probably don’t even have a hundred yen, I think Tattsun bled me dry last night.”

Asahi risks swinging his legs carefully over the side of the bed, but nothing happens except for an increase in his headache. “Oh god...” he groans, folding forward to bury his face in his knees. “If I could drink like Nekomata-sensei...”

“Don’t try it,” Keishin advises, sounding like he’s trying to get up too. “He’s had fifty years of practice, the old geezer. What time is it?”

Asahi hauls himself upright with judicious help from the wall and wobbles over to the pile of clothes – they were probably just hot and wanted to sleep, he doesn’t need to remember uncoordinated hands warm on his hips – to search through the pockets of his jeans. He fumbles out his phone and squints at the display. “Six-thirty.”

“Oh god, why…I have to get back to my room, shower, coffee...”

“Then get a busload of teenagers to a loud, bright gymnasium,” Asahi adds, leaning a shoulder carefully against the wall and trying to tug on jeans without leaning over too far.

“When did you get so helpful,” Keishin mutters, reaching for his own clothes.

Asahi looks over, feeling a grin tug at the corner of his mouth, and realises neither he nor Keishin have actually looked each other in the eye since waking up. Another twist of nausea makes him groan, sinking down onto the carpet and digging his thumbs into his sinus.

“Alright?”

He waves a hand, eyes closed. “How…how bad is my hair?”

“Well, you probably won’t have to shave it, but that’s the only good news.”

Asahi tries to run his fingers back and winces as they catch on several snags. “Nishinoya is going to have a field day.”

A sudden halt of movement from his companion draws his attention, and Asahi wonders if Keishin is usually that pale after drinking, or if it was something he said.

“You –” Keishin coughs to clear his throat, and then tries again. “Are you going to tell Nishinoya?”

Asahi stares. “Wha – oh no, no no, no way. The less he knows about my alcohol consumption the better.”

Tension fades from Keishin’s spine and colour comes back into his cheeks. _Oh_. Asahi might be six one and Nishinoya five three, but everyone who knows them knows which one to be afraid of. Keishin clearly thinks this is something to be hidden, to keep quiet about. Is he ashamed of any...insinuations that could be made? Asahi was part of a team under his guidance, but that was years ago, and he’s above all the legal limits that matter. They’re _friends_. Surely it won’t affect him that much?

But they are in a hotel where the rest of the team Keishin’s responsible for are staying. What if Asahi’s harmed his reputation? He’s the best coach Karasuno has ever had, he can’t step down! Would they make him?

The sick nausea in his gut just gets worse and worse with every dismal scenario. How can he call himself a friend if he gets Keishin into trouble?

“...ahi. _Asahi_.”

He looks up, suddenly realising Keishin is calling him. “I’m sorry, yes?”

Keishin’s by the door, dressed and pale and more than a little like the untamed crow that’s become a byword for Karasuno. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m fine.” He attempts to stand again and succeeds, pulling his sweater carefully back over his head.

“Should I get you some coffee?”

His heart lurches in his chest and Asahi’s glad for the material hiding his face. To offer him coffee, even when Keishin probably wants to be as far away from Asahi right now as possible...they can still be friends, he’ll make sure of it. He just needs to sort his head out. What happens in Tokyo stays in Tokyo.

“No, thank you. I’m going to brush my tea and get some tea.”

“Tea, really? Well, to each their own. I guess...” Keishin shifts his weight and reaches for the doorknob. “I guess I’ll see you back in Miyagi sometime, right?”

Asahi nods, gathering some fresh clothes to take to the bathroom. “I’ll come back down in March to see Hinata and the others graduate.”

“I’ll see you later then.”

“Have – um, have a safe trip back with the team.”

“Thanks.” Keishin opens the door carefully and glances out into the corridor. Asahi watches him go, heart pounding, unsure and more than a little lost.

He doesn’t see Keishin again that day. Karasuno will probably stay and see the finals, but Asahi bids a very quiet goodbye to the team, weathers Nishinoya’s extremely loud jokes at his expense, and finally tucks himself away in the back of a dim cafe to drink his weight in tea and wait for Suga and Daichi to find him for lunch.

“Oh ho,” Suga says, sliding opposite him. “Looks like our new legal adult enjoyed his freedom a bit too much.”

“Keep your voice down,” Asahi begs, not lifting his head from the table. It aches a little less, but his thoughts are no less muddled. Nets, seams; home, here; water, alcohol; Keishin, him...

Daichi tuts. “I know we all had to keep our spirits up last night, but this is a little excessive.”

“It’s not like that,” Asahi gripes.

“I for one didn’t realise you were such good friends with Ukai-san,” Suga says, smiling at their server and ordering. Asahi’s stomach curdles. “You eating?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are,” Daichi says, ordering for him. “It’ll soak up the alcohol.”

“I’ll throw up on you,” Asahi tells him. “What did you mean, Suga?”

Suga pokes Asahi’s cheek. “Huh? Oh, just that you and he and Shimada-san and Takinoue-san were drinking together when I left.”

Asahi tries not to let abject relief show on his face. “Well, yes, I mean, I did play with the Neighbourhood Association for a few months before I came down to Tokyo. I see them when I go back to Miyagi, they’re really nice.”

“We’re lucky to have such good support from the alumni,” Daichi agrees, and the subject drops.

He doesn’t end up regurgitating lunch, which is reassuring, and after saying goodbye, Asahi braves the train back to his tiny apartment and crawls into bed. Thinking hasn’t done much for him lately, so Asahi closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

He dreams about the past instead.

* * * * *

“Do you suddenly get the feeling,” Asahi ponders, watching Tsukishima slam down a kill block, “that we’ve maybe become the new Shiratorizawa?”

They watch Kageyama smash through three consecutive service aces. Hyakuzawa is as intimidating as ever, but he isn’t his whole team and Karasuno, having already cleared their first Inter-High round 25-8, 11-25 against Sakurashita, is as unruly a beast as ever. They finally have a big enough cheering section to look like the powerhouse they are.

“What on earth gives you that idea?” Daichi asks wryly as cheers go up for one of Tanaka’s sharp-angled spikes.

Asahi leans on the railing above their banner, smiling. Hatsume-san has been very generous in letting him take these few days off, and no matter how jarring it is to see the uniforms and hear the thud of the ball and the squeak of shoes without being on the court, it feels like he never left.

Kageyama sets one of his freak quicks to Hinata out of Ennoshita’s stable receive, and the umpire whistles the end of the game.

“Let’s go down and see them off,” Daichi says, nodding goodbye to Shimada and Takinoue. He’s mobbed immediately by a flock of crows, squawking at him to admire their new numbers and _did you see my serve, how about my spike, did you see how I got straight through_ – 

“Don’t trample him,” Keishin calls over the hubbub. “He already lost a tooth to this game.”

“Asahi!” Nishinoya hollers, dashing over to him and dragging the shortest first-year with him. “This is Toke, our new libero! He’s got steady hands, so I think he’ll do a good job! And we’re starting him on setting as well so we can keep going with the back set attack!”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Asahi says, smiling.

Toke looks up at him, petrified. “I-I-it’s nice t-t-t meet you t-t-too,” he quavers, clearly trying not to back away.

Nishinoya laughs and slaps Toke’s shoulder, clad in the same bright libero orange. “Don’t worry! Asahi’s probably more scared of you than you are of him!”

“Nishinoya,” he groans, something inside him wilting as the team guffaws. “You’ve got stop saying things like that!”

“What? You just need some of Ryuu’s balls and you’re good!”

“Noya, man, so savage!” Tanaka whistles. Asahi can only be glad Suga isn’t here to throw in his opinion as he shuffles backward out of the circle.

“He doesn’t mean it,” Keishin murmurs, tugging Asahi to stand next to him by the wall. Everyone else, even Tsukishima and Kageyama, uninterested in social interactions off the court, is watching Ennoshita glare the team into submission and introduce the other first-years Aheno and Namikawa to Daichi. “You know he’s your loyal defender.”

“When he isn’t being my harshest critic,” Asahi sighs before he thinks. “No, that didn’t come out right! He just –”

Keishin jostles him with a shoulder. “Man-bun, you think I don’t know what having a friend like that is like? Half the time Tattsun is ribbing me for looking like a delinquent and the other half he’s telling me not to care what other people think. Besides, I had to go through high school with my grumpy, hard-ass grandfather as coach. I know exactly what it’s like.”

The something knocked askew inside him settles. That’s true. When it feels like the world is scrutinising his every movement, like nothing will be enough, knowing that someone understands... “Ah, I didn’t really think about that...it must have been hard. I’m sorry you didn’t get to play as much as you would have liked.”

Keishin lifts an eyebrow at him. “Don’t be sorry, I still loved the game. And looking back as a coach instead of a player, I can appreciate his methods.”

“Even when he made you run those crazy sit-up sets around the gym?” Asahi asks.

“Well, maybe not then,” Keishin admits, and they grin at each other.

After the team has left to get back on the bus, Daichi turns to Asahi. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

“Did you see that Tanaka’s direct spike in the first set? Their libero’s receive was just a little close to the net and he smashed it straight down! Are you coming to watch round three tomorrow?”

Daichi shakes his head. “I was only able to come today because of a training day for the officers. I don’t think Suga will be able to come down at all until the holidays.”

“Well, Karasuno could make it through to the Inter-High Tournament,” Asahi says, “so Suga could watch them in Tokyo.”

“We have to get through Date Tech, Seijoh and Shiratorizawa first, though,” Daichi cautions.

“We’ve done it once before,” Asahi replies, clenching a fist.

But Shiratorizawa’s five-year Inter-High streak is broken by Date Tech. Asahi, Shimada and Takinoue cheer loudly the next day when Karasuno defeats Johzenji and then once again topples Aoba Johsai to advance to the finals, but when the ball finally hits the floor on the scoreboard is 27-25, 24-26, 30-28 against them.

“Gotta be tough for the third-years,” Takinoue says, applauding loudly as a stone-faced Ennoshita lines the team up. “Coming in as the Miyagi reps.”

“I could barely watch the last point,” Asahi confesses, holding his fist up when Nishinoya looks his way. He wants to tell them it’s alright, that they’ve got plenty of time before the Spring Nationals prelims, but he knows they know, and he knows nothing the spectators say can ease the sting of your own failures.

Keishin agrees.

“We probably weren’t going to advance in this one,” he says quietly a few days later, sitting with Asahi at the store’s back table while his mother serves the Friday afternoon customers. “We still needed to adapt in an official game to the lack of you third-years and we always knew Date Tech was going to be rough.”

Asahi flushes. “We’re not that special,” he begins, but Keishin blows out a cloud of smoke and shakes his head.

“It’s a whole new dynamic, especially with Hinata as wing spiker. His receives are better but half the time he’s still relying on instinct. We’re been drilling until their arms fall off but nothing changes overnight. Narita is good, but he’s still so damn timid when it comes to syncing with Kageyama. They’re getting better, but I just hope the Tokyo training camps will whip them into shape like always or we might be in trouble.”

“They just need to find their rhythm,” Asahi says. “Ennoshita seems to be settling well, and nothing’s more effective than failure for motivating change.”

Keishin grins at him, nudging his shin under the table. “Well, man-bun has some words of wisdom.”

Asahi ducks his head. “Learnt from the best.”

“Flatterer,” Keishin says, but he looks pleased. “How’s work?”

“Good,” Asahi perks up. He feels less aimless now: instead of hanging around watching while his classmates find their stride, he’s preparing, learning. His application has been accepted and Nishinoya had hovered over his shoulder until he signed the form acknowledging his move to Tokyo at the end of August for the term starting in September.

“That’s great! You managed to survive not only Tanaka and Nishinoya, but Kageyama and Hinata too – there’s nothing to worry about.”

Asahi laughs. “That actually makes me feel better.”

“Besides, you’ve got volleyball friends there,” Keishin adds, stubbing out his cigarette. “Not like you’re alone.”

“I know,” Asahi sighs. “It’s just...” he trails off, aware suddenly of how forlorn he must look, hanging around his ex-coach’s grocery store worrying about the nebulous future.

“You’re allowed to be afraid of change,” Keishin says. “Especially when it means moving to the big city. The only thing that counts is whether you move forward despite that.”

“But everyone else seems to be managing fine,” he blurts out.

Keishin laughs before calling over his shoulder, “Hey, Tattsun! Did you have any idea what you were doing after high school?”

“God no,” laughs Takinoue from the store room. “I still don’t.”

“You don’t even work here!” Keishin shouts.

Asahi listens to the exchange with his eyebrows lifting higher and higher. “But you all seem so sure,” he says, staring.

Keishin laughs so hard he starts coughing. “Listen, Asahi,” he says, recovering. “The greatest secret of adulthood is that very few people know what they’re doing. What they do know is how to fake it like a porn –”

“Language,” his mother chides, sweeping past at just that moment to whack him over the head with a feather duster. Asahi goes bright red.

“Ma!” Keishin complains, looking a little sheepish as Takinoue starts howling with mirth. “Technicalities aside, man-bun, we only look like we know what we’re doing. There’s no shame in taking a while to find out.”

Asahi waits for the blood in his cheeks to cool, tugging at the ends of his hair. Why are you being so compassionate, so encouraging, he wants to ask, but that would be an insult to Ukai Keishin. _No, this is about me_ , Asahi thinks, staring down at the table. _This is what I did when Date Tech shut me down at the end of second year, and I’ve come so damn far since then._

“I have been feeling a little lost,” he confesses to Keishin’s hands where they rest on the table. “But thank you. I know I have a path ahead, I just...I’m just floating a little until then.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Takinoue calls. “Come and beat the team with us next week and see how you feel then.”

“Exactly,” Keishin says, leaning back to stretch his arms to the ceiling. “September will be here before you know it, so enjoy the summer while you can.”

“I will. I’ve only got my old practice gear, though. Don’t mix me in with the team.”

“Nah,” Keishin-san grins, standing to help close the store. “You’re pretty distinctive, man-bun.”

He’s already played a few games with the Neighbourhood Association Team, some of them just three-on-threes when there wasn’t another team available, and Asahi meets Mori Yukinari at the bus stop.

“You looking forward to playing your old team again?” Mori asks, beginning to stretch.

“Yeah, definitely,” Asahi grins. Mori graduated Karasuno the year before Asahi, Suga and Daichi started, but he thinks they probably would have gotten along well if Mori had been a bit younger. “How did that project you were telling me about go?”

“ _Urgh_ ,” groans Mori feelingly. “Group assignments are the worst. I had that one girl in class who never contributes _and_ the guy who won’t shut up.”

Asahi winces. “Sounds rough.”

“It’s a battle to the death. I can tell you about it later? Lunch tomorrow?”

“Oh, okay, that sounds nice,” Asahi agrees, trying to think of a midway point between Mori’s university and the sewing shop. Mori’s been really helpful, explaining a few things about university that Asahi hadn’t wanted to bother Suga with.

Shimada, Takinoue, Uchizawa and Yamada are waiting for them. “Let’s get started,” Takinoue says, stepping up to the gym door. Fondness, nostalgia and excitement awake in Asahi’s chest, and he bounces a little on his toes, feeling his breath come deeper and easier in his lungs. He might not know what he’s doing, but he does know volleyball.

“Gather round!” Ennoshita shouts as the Association steps in. Asahi enters last, inhaling sweat and salonpas with a grin on his face, and Keishin winks when he sees him.

“Asahi-san?” Hinata yelps, starting the chaos. He, Nishinoya, Tanaka, Narita, Kinoshita, and Yamaguchi all crowd round, calling greetings that make Asahi’s heart swell. Why had he worried about leaving?

“All right, all right!” Keishin shouts, blowing his whistle over the hubbub. “Karasuno, on the court; Association, start warming up!”

Yamada is their setter, a patient, quiet man who reminds Asahi a little of the captain they’d had when he was a second-year, though compared to Kageyama he looks a little scruffy. Hinata is vibrating with excitement at the front, along with a long-suffering Tsukishima, and Ennoshita, Narita and Tanaka are waiting in the back for Takinoue to serve.

Keishin blows the whistle and the ball sails over.

“Got it!” Ennoshita bumps it nicely to Kageyama, but Asahi has kept an eye on Hinata and jumps against him as soon as the ball leaves Kageyama’s clever fingers.

“One touch!” he shouts, though he barely managed against the amazing height of Hinata’s jump, and Shimada dives for the rebound.

“Nice!” Mori calls, waving a hand at Yamada. Asahi jumps for it too, but Tsukishima doesn’t fall for it.

“One touch,” he says as Mori’s spike glances off him.

“Mine!” Tanaka scoops it up but curses, calling for cover as Kageyama runs forward.

“Left,” Asahi tells Shimada, and they jump against Ennoshita’s back row attack.

“Sorry!” Narita calls as the blocked ball lands millimetres from his outstretched hand.

“Don’t mind,” Ennoshita claps his hands. “That was my bad, but we’ll get it back!”

“Let’s show these old men who they’re messing with,” Tanaka goads.

They do – the first set is taken 25-20 by Karasuno. Tanaka and Hinata make a formidable left side: Keishin was right to move Hinata, and to put Narita in. Narita’s gotten better, and though no one can match Tsukishima for game sense Narita is thinking and planning the longer he and Kageyama match up. Yamaguchi is as intimidating a pinch-server as ever, and Takinoue ribs Shimada for that as they gather for the second set before turning to Asahi.

“Come on, beardy, use your insider knowledge!”

Asahi hums. “Tsukishima will go for feints more often than not when he’s doing a centre quick; Hinata will ricochet if you don’t angle your blocks; Tanaka will power through an opponent out of spite; and the next time Nishinoya gets a clean one to Kageyama we can expect a setter dump when the synchronised attack moves in.”

The set has to wait a few moments for Keishin to stop laughing.

Tanaka takes the opening serve, his jump stable and toss steady, but Uchizawa is under it easily enough, and Takinoue puts it over the net with a good quick where it spins off Hinata’s outstretched arm.

“Idiot! Move your feet, get lower!”

Nishinoya runs on for Tsukishima and smacks Hinata’s back, “You’ll get the next one!”

Shimada chuckles, catching the ball. “Glad Kageyama isn’t my coach.”

His is the next serve, jump float aimed at Hinata, but Hinata gets far enough forward to receive it overhand. It’s a little shaky but nice and high, and Kageyama is waiting under it as the four spikers advance. Asahi loves all of them on the other side of the net, though, and is already diving as Kageyama, smirk invisible unless you know him, tips it over.

“Nice one! I’m open!” Takinoue shouts as Asahi gets it up, but the blood is rushing in Asahi’s ears, lightning striking up his spine, and he rights himself from the dive in time to shout,

“Left, left!”

Narita obviously thinks Yamada is too cool-headed to let a player who’s just dived spike and jumps against Takinoue, but Asahi is in the air, soaring high as the storm hits inside him, and the ball is in front of him just in time for him to smash it down a foot to Nishinoya’s right, none of the receivers reacting in time.

“Yes!” he yells, spinning round to face his team. Takinoue shouts insult-praise, ruffling his hair, and Uchizawa wallops him cheerfully across the back as Mori grabs him around the waist.

“Damn it, Asahi!” Nishinoya shouts, scrubbing his hair furiously.

Asahi exhales and it feels like fire. “Good thing I’m not afraid, isn’t it?”

Surprise flickers bright in Nishinoya’s animal-wild eyes, but he’s always been too genuine, too genuinely _good_ , and he just grins his thousand-watt smile. “Of course you’re not,” he says, like there was never a question. “You’re the ace!”

“So manly,” Tanaka cheers, and Asahi rubs his neck, pleased, as he looks up at Keishin.

He’s already looking back. “Good shot, man-bun.”

Tanaka points accusingly. “Favouritism!”

Keishin laughs at him and blows the whistle for the next play.

They start packing up two hours later, Karasuno emerging victorious. Asahi moves to help take down the net, but Ennoshita chases him away and he wanders instead over to where Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are mopping the floor.

“You played really well,” he tells both of them.

“Thank you!” Yamaguchi chirps, and Tsukishima nods.

“Your blocking was excellent as always,” he continues, and Yamaguchi politely darts off to where Hinata and Kageyama are arguing about something. “We gave Date Tech a run for their money.”

“Thank you, but my blocking can’t compete with an iron wall like theirs,” Tsukishima says. “They train consistently to use it as a weapon.”

“We definitely can’t match Date Tech for their methods, but a point is a point. Every play is connected.”

“Kuroo-san says the same,” sighs Tsukishima, before a minute shift in the set of his shoulders tells Asahi he didn’t mean to say that. A non-reaction from Tsukishima is the same as a reaction, but Asahi doesn’t pry.

“He’s right,” he says instead. “Your hundred-point block against Shiratorizawa is proof of that.” He wants to say, _I of all people know what it’s like to doubt_ , but it’s not his place to suddenly have a heart-to-heart with Tsukishima. “Don’t worry,” he says instead, clapping a hand on Tsukishima’s shoulder. “If you can’t be proud just yet, I’ll be proud enough for the both of us. You’re going to do amazing things.”

Red creeps up the back of Tsukishima’s neck, and Asahi leaves him be.

Keishin finds him by the side, gulping down half his water bottle. “How did it go?” He asks, tilting his head towards their tallest middle blocker.

Asahi blinks up at him. “Oh, I wasn’t really – I didn’t mean –”

Keishin waves a hand at his half-formed thoughts. “He’s been so much better since Shiratorizawa and Nationals, but I still think we haven’t seen his full potential.”

“Well...sometimes belief is broken and it hurts to hope, so it’s best not to expect things. That way, you won’t be disappointed in the end when you don’t get them.” Asahi looks up from his water bottle to see Keishin staring at him. “Not me! And I don’t think Tsukishima truly believes that anymore, but old habits are hard to break.”

“God, sometimes I think we need to invest in a sports psychologist,” Keishin sighs.

“We’re heading out,” Takinoue says, towel draped around his neck. “Dinner Saturday?”

“Sure,” Keishin says. “You owe me a drink, remember?”

“You too, Asahi-kun,” Shimada says, pulling on his street shoes.

“Oh, me? Thank you! Yes, I’ll be there,” he answers, looking away from where Ennoshita is scolding the first-years who were trying to jab each other with the net aerials, probably at Nishinoya’s behest.

“See you tomorrow, then,” Mori waves, following the others out of the gym.

Asahi turns back to Keishin. “Uh, I’m walking down past Sakanoshita, if you don’t mind some company?”

“Sounds good,” Keishin says. “All right, you lot! Get home and get some rest! Remember, no practice tomorrow morning because the school is checking all the gyms’ wiring. Ennoshita, lock up and chase idiots out. Yachi, do you need us to walk you to the bus stop?”

Yachi startles. “Oh, no, thank you very much! Hinata and Yamaguchi said they’re walking that way too, so it won’t be a bother for you!”

“Right,” Keishin says. “See you all tomorrow.”

The night is warm and full of the sound of insects as they get to the road down the hill, and Keishin pulls out a cigarette as they pass the gate. Asahi steps over to his left when Keishin lights it, and smiles a little awkwardly at the curious look.

“Hatsume-san doesn’t like the smell,” he explains. “She says it affects the aroma of the shop.”

“Ah, sorry,” Keishin says, holding it away from both of them.

“No, it’s alright! I don’t mind it at all, but Hatsume-san has these really thick round glasses that make her eyes huge, and one time she leant really close to me and sniffed my hair. I thought I’d have a heart attack.”

Keishin barks a laugh at the same time he brings the cigarette to his lips, and they pause at a street corner while he coughs the confusion out. “Geez, man-bun, I never know what’s coming out of your mouth next.”

“Sorry,” offers Asahi, but Keishin shakes his head and stubs out the cigarette. “You don’t have to,” he begins, but Keishin shrugs.

“Ma’s been on at me about quitting – so has the old geezer. ‘Is that any way for a Nationals-level powerhouse coach to behave, you useless excuse for a grandson?’” He sighs. “I’m his only damn grandson, you’d think he’d be a little less cantankerous about it.”

“You don’t have any siblings?”

“Nope. Got cousins on my dad’s side, so he’s got granddaughters, but I’m the only boy. You?”

Asahi shakes his head. “Only child. I live with my aunts.”

“Parents working?”

“They died when I was a baby,” Asahi says after a moment. The usual response is uncomfortable apologies and a quick subject change.

“I’m sorry,” Keishin quietly. “Do you remember them?”

“No, it’s –” Asahi begins, ready to assure him he’s fine, his aunts have never been less than loving, that he’s never known it another way, but then the rest of Keishin’s question filters in and he flounders. “Ah, no, not really. There are pictures, of course, and my aunts have always told me stories.”

“Stories can’t really compare, though, can they?” Keishin asks, staring up at the stars with his hands in his pockets. “I don’t really remember my grandmother, but the stories my dad tells don’t do her justice at all.”

Asahi tugs at his hair, watching the way the leafy trees sway in the light of the street lamps. “I’m sorry about your grandmother. I don’t remember my parents at all...but I’ve always thought...” he hunches his shoulder a little. “Everybody says how sorry they are, but I’ve never known it a different way. I feel a little guilty sometimes, that I can’t really understand their sympathy, but maybe what they’re apologising for is the loss of what might have, should have been. All the potential. My aunts are my parents, and they love me, but...”

Keishin is quiet and steady beside him, strong with that edge of wildness all Karasuno crows carry visible in the slope of his neck, the glint in his eye.

Asahi looks up at the stars too. “Aunt Sae suffers from headaches and she prefers painting at home in peace and quiet. Aunt Mae writes a lot about history. They came to a few volleyball matches when I was younger, but the noise upset Aunt Sae and the formation my middle school used reminded Aunt Mae of some Edo tactics and she spent the next year writing another book.”

Cicadas sing loudly and cheerfully in the silence, and Asahi realises they’re almost reached Sakanoshita. But it isn’t his imagination, is it, that both their steps have slowed? It’s a lovely night, and the breeze is cool against sweat-warm skin.

“But they’re proud of you anyway,” Keishin says at last, grinning sideways as Asahi.

“Why’s everybody trying to make me cry tonight?” Asahi wonders, turning away to scrub at his eyes to hide how Keishin’s answer affects him. He can’t vocalise what it means to him that Keishin didn’t say something like, _now I see where you get it from_ , like Suga did when he met Sae. Asahi knows nervous tendencies run in his family, but to be known for what he is now, instead of what he might have grown to become, is indescribable.

Keishin chuckles, changing the subject. “How’s Shimizu doing?”

“Good. Her course is going well, but I think she’s looking forward to coming back.”

“Tanaka’s looking forward to having her back. He and the Mohawk from Tokyo were having some sort of ‘Best Shimizu Moment’ at training camp.”

“Oh gosh,” Asahi says, laughing. They’re standing idly in front of Sakanoshita; he should probably head home, but saying goodbye has never been easy. “So, where are we having dinner on Saturday?”

“Probably Uchizawa’s sister’s restaurant. I’ll send the address once we know for sure.”

“Okay,” Asahi says, straightening up and adjusting his bag strap. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“See you then,” Keishin nods, pulling out his keys. “And Asahi?”

He turns back, “Yes?”

Keishin looks at him, head to one side. “You’ll do fine.”

Warmth blooms in his stomach. “Thank you,” he says, and waves again at the end of the street.

_I will_ , Asahi decides, setting his shoulders. _I will be fine._

And he is. September arrives before he knows it, and after a terrified sleepless night, and agonising for half-an-hour on what to wear – he got up two hours early in his cramped new apartment for just that reason – Asahi slings his bag over his shoulder and walks out into Tokyo.

The Japanese School of Fashion and Design is waiting for him, and even though Asahi feels like he might die of terror on the sidewalk, even though he might permanently imprint his Karasuno keychain into his palm with how tightly he’s gripping it, and even though he pauses outside the door, stomach tearing itself into pieces, heart going haywire, he makes himself think, _When it counts, it goes to the ace. It’s the ace’s job is to get though any wall in their way_. He thinks, _You are stronger than you know_. He thinks, _You’ll do fine._

He takes a breath, and steps inside.

* * * * *

A new year is supposed to bring with it a new slate, but when Asahi wakes he feels like the past has settled like fresh snowfall thick and heavy round his shoes. The memories are like the tiny ice flecks that land as he makes his way to the design school after winter break: if he turns one in the light, a new facet is revealed. He’s known he prefers men since his first year in Tokyo, but tilting memories back and forth, Asahi reflects he really shouldn’t have been so unprepared for how badly his first night with a girl went.

“You know what Takeda-sensei used to say about hindsight,” he says to himself, breath puffing out in a silver cloud. But it’s one thing to get caught up in the artistic rebellion of Tokyo’s youth, and quite another to kiss his ex-coach. It’s alright to find someone interesting in clubs for a night, but his few attempts for more have taught him that guys like him don’t get boyfriends.

_Fuck me, daddy_ , slurs a voice in his memory, and Asahi hunches his shoulders against it. _Fuck me, what else ya good for? You’re in a club, ain’t ya? Don’t think your good-boy act is foolin’ me. That hair, those shoulders, you’re askin’ for it. Pound me into the ground and fuck off, yeah?_

He’d pushed past the man and his wandering hand, whisky-laden breath awful on his cheeks, and pulled his jacket collar up over his hair as he slipped out into the night. Standing in his tiny kitchen with the scissors open and ready, eyes stinging with tears he refused to let fall…it was a good thing Nishinoya had woken at the sound of the front door and come to see why the light was on. Somewhere in the middle of talking Nishinoya down from marching out and inflicting grievous bodily harm, Asahi had decided that no drunken prick was going to change him because he was the ace of Karasuno and if that meant he stayed single then so be it.

He’d changed himself enough to fit into Tokyo’s frenetic young artistic culture, anyway, and it had taken failing a course to make Asahi realise that the only person he could be was himself.

“So,” he says, watching the clouds of condensation. “Friends.”

He nods to himself and walks through the gate. When the term begins with the teachers requesting they design a wedding dress in two weeks, Asahi is fairly sure he won’t have the time in any case to fret about drunken intentions.

By the time spring has nudged winter slowly out of the way and he emerges from the chaos of a kimono design based solely on astronomical signs, it’s time for him and Suga to catch the bus back to Miyagi.

Asahi watches the leaves shimmer in the sun and lets his mind touch on the people at home. Tanaka will be there, and they’re meeting Daichi in Sendai...he’s looking forward to seeing Keishin, too. That morning hasn’t been brought up in the sporadic emails they send each other, and he values the strange fellowship they created when he was adrift after graduation too much to risk mentioning it. It was his own fault for letting his subconscious decide it wanted to experiment with someone attractive he actually likes.

“Are you still going to be studying?” Suga asks as they pull away.

“Yes, the second-years have a runway showcase a week into the new term.”

“Stressful,” Suga nods. “I’m glad I can get a break from lesson plans. But I can’t believe our first-years are graduating already!” He sighs. “It seems like only yesterday that they were scrappy little chicks just learning to fly.”

“And you say I get weepy,” Asahi mutters.

He accepts the elbow to the ribs.

They transfer buses in Sendai and meet up with Daichi. Tanaka’s waiting for them at the bus stop closest to Karasuno, chest so inflated with pride it looks like he’s a second away from floating off into the air. The reason is apparent, and Asahi watches Suga and Daichi for their reactions to Shimizu holding Tanaka’s hand.

“Hey! You two! Hey!” Suga stares, beaming. “Tanaka, at last! Shimizu, you finally gave in!”

“Oh, shut up, Suga,” Daichi chuckles, shoving out of the way and gathering their bags. “It’s great to see you both. Congratulations!”

Shimizu is blushing pink but Tanaka is redder, talking a mile a minute as Daichi scrubs at his shaved head fondly. Suga punches Asahi’s shoulder as they lead the way down the street. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m not,” Asahi says, smiling. “Nishinoya told me.”

“How’s he taking it?”

“Fine,” shrugs Asahi. “She was more an untouchable idol on a pedestal, and when he started working and planning his travels, he realised he was more focused on seeing what was out there than thinking about what he would be leaving behind.”

“I’m glad,” Suga smiles. “But I’m sure he still gives Tanaka shit for it! Are you looking forward to having him stay with you for the next few months? I know he was with you for a few weeks after he graduated, but can you survive living with him for longer?” He pulls a face, clearly remembering all the times Nishinoya woke them at training camp at what he considered a decent hour and everyone else called the crack of dawn.

Asahi considers. “I think so. He’ll be working and I’ll be studying, but he doesn’t mind a futon in the living room. At least I don’t need a roommate to afford this apartment. Kyohei-san was...”

Suga frowns. “Good riddance to bad rubbish. Hey, Daichi! Where do you want to have dinner?”

“Wherever Tanaka thinks is good,” Daichi replies. “He’s the local expert, after all.”

“Don’t you worry,” Tanaka boasts, “me and Kiyoko-san have been rating restaurants and we know just the best ones!”

“We can stop by Sakanoshita if you’re hungry in the meantime,” Shimizu offers. “We weren’t thinking of going to dinner until later.”

Asahi’s stomach suddenly feels like there’s a baby crow fluttering madly inside it, but thankfully no one seems to notice.

“We should go and say hi to Ukai-san before tomorrow’s ceremony,” agrees Daichi. “Then I need to drop my stuff and greet my parents.”

“We can meet up in front of the main square a bit before six,” Suga decides. “Is it only us?”

“Ennoshita can’t make it, and Noya’s finishing his gig on the trawler,” Tanaka says. “It’s just us.”

They turn their footsteps up towards the road up to school, the familiar building rising up on the hill like a nest at the top of a tree. As they step inside Keishin appears from behind a shelf. “Here’s trouble. I thought I’d gotten rid of you lot!”

Suga laughs. “As of tomorrow you’ll be free of all of us, your first flock of crows!”

“My first murder,” Keishin agrees, shaking hands with Daichi before looking up and meeting Asahi’s gaze. There’s a frozen split-second, but then Keishin just grins. “Time flies.”

“How’s the team?” Daichi asks. “Losing Hinata and Kageyama is going to be a huge blow.”

“Yeah, but a freak quick attack isn’t the only weapon a powerhouse school has,” Keishin says proudly. “We’ll be fine. How long are you boys in town?”

“I’m down for the month,” Suga says, buying a protein bar and beginning to unwrap it, “but Asahi’s not so lucky. He’s being all studious and hardworking.”

“Only a fortnight,” he explains. “I’ve got several portfolios coming up.”

“You’ll still stop by the gym, won’t you?” Tanaka asks. “I’ll run a class, show you what I’ve got!”

“As long as you promise to go easy on a poor unfit teacher, sure,” Suga grins. “Come on, we’d better drop our stuff.”

“See you tomorrow?” Asahi asks as he’s towed over the threshold, turning back to Keishin.

“Tomorrow,” Keishin nods, waving them out.

That’s a good sign, right? He’s not avoiding Asahi, and there wasn’t much awkwardness when they talked; it’ll be fine. He parts from the others and heads up the street to his aunts’ house, letting himself in out of the hot spring sun. “I’m home.”

“Welcome home,” Aunt Sae murmurs, gliding into the hallway. “It’s lovely to have you back. I was worried the bus wouldn’t run because of the temperature. You’d better have some water.” She accepts a gentle hug and presses a kiss to his cheek, wiping off the lipstick mark she leaves behind.

Asahi looks her over carefully. “You’re well?”

“I’ve switched to rosehip and chamomile tea, lightened with lavender,” Sae explains, leading the way into kitchen. “Put your things down and show me your portfolio, Asa-chan. Your sketch of an evening dress was delightful, but I really think the shade of navy was a bit too harsh...”

By the time Mae gets home, Asahi’s sketchpads and stitch patterns are strewn over the kitchen.

“Battle plans ready?” she asks. “Don’t squint, Sae. You’ll get a headache and blame it on me. This is elegant,” Mae continues, glancing at the lines for a suit jacket Asahi’s been considering. “The lapel is very stylish, dear.”

Asahi sighs in relief. “Thank you,” he says, gathering the papers back into their folders. “I wasn’t sure, but if you like it...”

“Be more assertive, Asahi,” chides Mae.

“Yes, Aunt Mae,” he says, escaping before she can liken his studies to a battle again.

Graduation Day dawns bright and warm, with just enough of a breeze to prevent anyone passing out again waiting in lines in the heat. The trees aren’t in full bloom just yet, but petals still dance along the ground as the group makes their way to the auditorium.

“Come on, near the front!” Suga insists, dragging Daichi along with him.

“I’m just glad Hinata and Kageyama passed enough of their final exams to actually graduate,” Daichi mutters under his breath.

“Believe me, it was close,” Takeda laughs, approaching them. “How are you all? It’s so good to see you!”

Tsukishima’s brother also comes to say hello, and Keishin greets them just before the ceremony begins. Shimizu hands a packet of tissues down the line of seats.

Asahi only uses one when the principal and Takeda call the team forwards to congratulate them for ranking third in Spring Nationals. The others are tearing up too, especially since Yachi is crying into Yamaguchi’s sleeve, and in the chaos afterwards of students trying to find family members and people trying to make the most of the tea and coffee, Asahi draws close to the wall and blows his nose.

“I remember my graduation.” Asahi turns to Tsukishima’s brother. “The team sang horribly off-tune and our old club adviser nearly died of shame.”

Asahi laughs. “Sounds like Karasuno crows. Is Tsukishima still planning on studying in Sendai?”

Tsukishima-san nods, beaming, “Yeah, and he’s been put on reserve already for one of the professional league teams! Sendai Frogs approached him after Nationals.”

“That’s amazing!” Asahi says, going on tiptoes to see if he can catch a glimpse of the team. “Is he still planning on transferring for a year to Tokyo? If he can get a Tokyo team on his resume, negotiating with the Frogs will be a piece of cake.”

“I think so.”

Asahi finally spots that blonde head and leads the way over. “I’ve told him he’s welcome to stay with me, when he comes, but there’s always Suga, or Akaashi-san from Fukurōdani, or Kuroo-san from Nekoma.”

Tsukishima-san snickers. “From being a reserved little brat to having friends in other powerhouse schools...I’m never going to stop teasing him for that.”

Tsukishima eyes his grinning brother suspiciously when they finally make their way to the loud, boisterous group out on the lawn, but doesn’t say anything. Daichi is listening to Hinata’s hopes to go overseas next year, Suga and Yamaguchi are nodding to whatever Tanaka is waving his hands about, and Tsukishima is letting himself be used as a buffer by Yachi, who’s shrinking from the hoard of soccer students tromping past them.

“Where’s Ukai-san?” Asahi asks Daichi.

“Getting Takeda for a group photo,” he replies. “Have you met Yachi-san?”

Asahi turns to Yachi’s mother and introduces himself. She is so well dressed it’s intimidating, but after learning he’s studying fashion, she warms to him. By the time Keishin joins them, they’re discussing the questionable rise of mauve in home decorating and she’s given him several helpful names to contact back in Tokyo.

“Oooooh,” Suga hisses in Daichi’s ear, tugging Asahi’s shirt to make sure he’s looking. A petite lady under a large sun hat is following Takeda, lovely in a flower-print cotton dress with a light shawl over her shoulders.

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” Takeda calls. He’s in his usual suit, and Asahi wishes he could find one that fit better.

“Not at all,” reassures Daichi, bowing to his companion. “Sorry to make you rush.”

“Oh, it’s fine!” she says, smiling brightly. “I’m Soma Ochako, I work at the library. Takeda-kun invited me today to meet the volleyball team he’s so proud of.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Daichi says, and takes over introductions, manfully ignoring the looks Suga’s trying to send him.

“Alright, alright, before we all melt, a quick photo,” Keishin says, gesturing everyone together. He’s also wearing a suit, navy and something bought off the rack, with a white button-down underneath and no tie. The only downside to studying fashion, Asahi’s found, is his new desire to find everyone outfits better suited to them. Keishin’s shoulders could really be accentuated more, and Asahi could find him one that fits better with a more comfortable lining.

“Is Namikawa ready to be the new captain?” he asks after the photos are done, taking his mind off the taper of Keishin’s waist.

Keishin considers. “Yes, I think so. It’ll be strange next year, though, not having anyone from the original team. This is Karasuno reborn.”

“Change all over again,” Asahi nods, watching Hinata hang off Kageyama’s shoulder. He opens his mouth to say something else, but someone nearby shouts at the basketball club and someone else surges back, shoving into Asahi. He staggers and as Keishin shifts to brace him another shoulder meets his: unbalanced on the edge of the small dip leading from the auditorium down to the athletics track, they topple.

Asahi lands heavily on Keishin’s chest, driving the breath out of both of them.

There are voices calling out in concern above them, but when Asahi lifts his head his heartbeat is the only thing he can hear as sense memory hits. Braced over Keishin like this and meeting his wide, surprised eyes, he can’t stop the blush flooding his cheeks any more than he could stop gravity tumbling them down the lawn.

“Are you two alright?” Takeda asks, but Asahi is already rolling off and scrambling to his feet, apologising.

“We’re fine,” Keishin says, accepting the hand Takeda extends to haul himself to his feet. “Not your fault, man-bun, stop apologising.”

“We’re really sorry!” chorus the boys at the top, bowing with their parents scowling over their shoulders. Tanaka is laughing as Keishin waves off more apologies, but Asahi can only think about willing away the heat in his face and calming his heart rate before Suga asks him what’s wrong.

He says goodbye around noon and thinks he promises to meet up with the others later but can’t remember clearly when all he wants is to lock himself in his room and try and sort out _this_ , the something in his chest that makes it hard to look properly at Keishin.

Sae finds him facedown on his bed and settles herself in his desk chair, flicking shawls out of the way of the wheels. “Who is he, Asa-chan?”

Asahi groans, burrowing into his pillow.

“We did wonder, you know, if your call last year was prompted by someone in particular,” she says. “I know you are still coming to terms with what your body desires, the urges –” Asahi groans louder but Sae just waits for him to fall silent before continuing, “– the urges that are beginning to shape your soul, but if you don’t wish to talk about it, come paint with me. Put tangible colours to those intangible wants and understand what your subconscious wishes you to see.”

“No thank you, Aunt Sae,” he says finally, rolling over. “I understand what I want, but...it’s not just about a person. Mostly. Well, it is, but as a catalyst.”

“Desire for a concept, not an individual.”

“Sort of?” Asahi bites his lip. “Before I left for Tokyo, I...”

“Had intimate relations?”

“No!” Asahi blushes scarlet. He and Mori had gone to dinner a few times when some of the other Association players hadn’t been able to make it, and it had been nice. Then, before he’d left in August, he and Mori had had some sake together and ended up kissing under an awning downtown – a fumbling, awkward thing, uncertain and unwise when they both knew they were going in opposite directions.

As a first kiss, it had been shy and clumsy.

As a first kiss, it had been eye-opening in a way that made Asahi realise the time he started talking to an older white-collar graduate in a bar wasn’t because he thought the man was watching the volleyball match on the TV, and that he really should have realised why Mori kept inviting him out to lunch.

It wasn’t unpleasant, but with the chaos of his move to Tokyo, meeting new people, finding his feet, getting to grips with the course material, their vague half-promises to keep in touch fell by the wayside. There wasn’t time to think about how much of a shrinking violet Miyagi-him was when Asahi was trying so hard to force himself to be the outgoing ace Tokyo-him needed to be. There wasn’t time to think about a half-kiss from a man in Miyagi when eccentric new acquaintances pulled him into bars, raves, holistic gatherings in parks after sunset, or roof parties where up-and-coming artists in disciplines he’d never heard of talked at length about subjects he didn’t understand. No time for anything but trying to keep up with the pace of the new city.

“An intimate moment,” offers Sae instead, and he nods.

“It never went anywhere. Tokyo was too bright and crazy and chaotic, and I found other moments with other people...but...”

That was before he’d realised that the young people in Tokyo who belonged to eclectic, alternative artistic circles; or to the strict, ambitious roads of suits and management; or to the arenas of sports and movement and high adrenalin, didn’t have time for relationships.

That was before the excruciating awkwardness of his first time going home with a girl, where they fumbled at each other until Asahi faked remembering an important assignment a second before she pretended to have heard her phone ring and they left without looking each other in the face.

That was before his first time using his hands in bed with a boy ended, after weeks of listening to Izuku’s esoteric choices for art sculptures, with Izuku expressing vague surprise that Asahi had stayed over after a party and Izuku going home with a film major the next night. He hadn’t been malicious about it, had been calm and generous and funny the morning after, but he hadn’t looked Asahi’s way again.

That was before he realised shy guys like him didn’t find nice boyfriends in the fiercely vibrant landscape of Japan’s capital.

As another classmate had said, they were as bright and alive as the lights and sounds of the city – there was no time for anything but a good time in case they got caught by the daily grind and turned dull and dusty.

Fortunately, Asahi’s first housemate had broken his leg shortly after, and Asahi had an excuse to pull back from the undertow created by the wave of the _fashionartmusicfilmliteraturedancesong_ people he’d met, only realising how close he was to burning out when he’d gone to see Karasuno play in their second Nationals. Nishinoya had scolded him about how pale he was, how he’d loss weight and muscle mass.

There was no time for a bad time, Asahi had decided instead, especially when being unable to say no to a group of classmates, determined to force himself to be something he wasn’t in case he was left behind, meant his grade for one particular dress design was his first failing mark.

“You re-centred yourself,” Sae finishes, no doubt remembering several midnight calls last year where she and Mae had walked Asahi, in tears from exhaustion and worry and doubt, through both his confession about himself and a colour palette for a European design brief on the heels of his first fail. He’d never loved them more, even if the late hours resulted in his aunts’ diametrically opposed personalities coming to the fore.

_But if he likes men, Sae, he should be prepared for their stubborn intransigent natures and face it strongly with plaid!_

_Don’t be ridiculous, Mae, plaid cannot function as a fulcrum for a European runway. Asa-chan would be better off finding a man who embraced a paisley design with an overlay that cannot be any darker than eggshell blue for that model’s skin-tone, Asa-chan, write that down._

The brief been a resounding success, thank god, and when Nishinoya had come up to stay with him for a fortnight after he graduated, Asahi borrowed some of his fearless confidence to say no and find instead people who preferred quieter nights and good grades.

“Yes,” Asahi says, exhausted from even remembering his first few months in Tokyo.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean that you can’t find a new balance now, Asa-chan. You are much more yourself than you were.”

“Don’t say that,” Asahi groans, sitting up to accept the herbal tea being held out. “It’s not a crush, I don’t have time for a crush!”

“Denial not only stymies creative outlet, but it gives you wrinkles, dearest. Accept and release.”

Asahi sighs down into peppermint-scented steam. Does he have a crush on Keishin, and not just the fact and presence of Keishin?

Landing on someone’s chest and blushing when you realise you’re a few centimetres away from a kiss is perhaps a little indicative.

“Alright, so maybe I do,” he admits glumly to his tea. “But he’s here and I’m there, and he’s older than me, and it’s just a crush.”

A creak of his desk chair, a waft of light floral perfume, and Sae brushes a light kiss to his cheek. “Your mother liked older men too.”

Asahi looks up, blushing. “Really?” He glances at the picture on his bedside, a man and a woman smiling at the camera with a baby in their arms.

“Your father was nine years older than she was. I suspect she liked being a little daring, since she didn’t have a twin to shock people with. Now, dear, shouldn’t you be working on your portfolio?”

“Yes, Aunt Sae,” he says, but he heads out for an hour to practice spiking against the garden wall. The blue, white and yellow of the ball makes him think of Keishin in his suit, but before his brain can float away on endorphins, a new design unfurls in his mind and Mae has to drag him away from his draft-paper for dinner.

He calls Hatake Emi after dinner.

“Are you going insane over this runway or is it just me,” his closest friend from Tokyo asks immediately.

“It’s not just you,” he sighs, staring at the scrawls on his page. “I can’t believe Suoh-san wants us to display these on models the week after we get back.”

“He made a deal with a devil dressed in Polo Ralph Loren,” she grumbles. “It’s such a vague brief, too! To suit the client’s desire for a summer wardrobe, but able to be worn out, needing three buttons and a cross stitch. Out where? Urgh. How’s the countryside?”

Asahi sighs. “Ha ha. It’s fine. Saw my kohai graduate today, the last of my volleyball team when I played.”

“Go Karasuno,” says Emi. “When’s the little wild child coming?”

“Next month. Nishinoya’s planning on staying till August; he got a job with a warehouse and will definitely be making more money than we ever will.”

“I feel like everyone’s going to make more than us,” Emi grumbles. “When are you back? I need someone to complain to.”

“In a fortnight,” Asahi says, shuffling all his sketches so he can at least pretend to be organised.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're all done with the past flashbacks, so smooth sailing here on out (for me, not them!)

Asahi barely has time to unpack after getting back to Tokyo before he’s swept up in the chaos of the big runway show. Is he really the only one who sacrificed a little of his holiday time to prepare early?

“Where’s the pick, I need the pick, WHO’S GOT IT?” Hanabi shrieks, tearing past them.

“How do you –”

“Give me that –”

“Has anybody seen –”

Asahi retreats into the corner when Emi thunders past. “I’m sorry about all this,” he says to their assigned model, sitting in front of her mirror and looking overwhelmed. “It’s not always this crazy. We’re so grateful to have you here modelling for us.”

She’s young and relatively new; her makeup doesn’t quite disguise her nerves. His heart goes out to her; she’s so much like Yachi – and himself.

“Here, have you had enough water? The lights can get really dehydrating.” He pulls a fresh bottle out of his bag and pops a new straw into it, handing it to her with a reassuring smile. “The straw should save your lipstick, but if you won’t tell Fukui-san neither will I.”

That gets a small smile out of her and she accepts the drink, darting careful glances around like the school’s cosmetic director will leap out at her.

Makeup artists continue flitting about like harried butterflies and the stage crew shout to one another as lights flicker and flash. The scent of hairspray hangs over it all, a miasma thick in the air and coating nearly every surface as last-minute touch-ups are performed.

“First line, your models need to be dressed and ready!”

Tsubaki stands, holding the water bottle uncertainly until Asahi takes it and helps her out of the robe. “Are you ready?”

She looks up at him, eyes huge.

“Don’t worry,” he says, smiling and trying for Suga’s soothing tone. He’s really not good at this. “You just need to walk out, pause, turn, and walk back. That’s all.”

“But there are so many people,” she whispers, clutching her hands together. “What if I faint? Or throw up? Or fall?”

“You won’t,” Asahi assures her, kneeling to adjust the line of the dress he designed. It really is lovely, and he thinks, just for a moment before the nerves sweep back in _, I’m doing a good job_. “They aren’t looking at you, not really. They’re looking at the dress. Maybe find a fixed spot on the back wall and think about crazy things that might have happened to that one spot, like…like…oh, like a pigeon flew into it or something.”

She manages a smile. “Why would a pigeon fly into it?”

“Stranger things have happened! I get very nervous too, and you remind me on my old volleyball team’s manager when I was in high school. She used to worry before games too. But we walk every day! You walked in here, you walked to your seat, we can walk now, if you want. Let’s walk until you feel better.”

“Azumane, make sure you’re ready!” Kobayashi shouts, ticking off names.

They walk up and down the few feet of space they have as Asahi tells her about the dress, about why he chose the colours and how glad he is she’s wearing it. When the models are called, she seems calmer, and Asahi leaves her in line and retreats to have his own delayed mini-freak-out in the back where she can’t see.

“You are a gooey marshmallow in a gritty chocolate exterior,” Emi tells him as she rushes past, arms full of tulle.

This is a different sort of nerves to a volleyball game. Then, Asahi was under the eye of the crowd and had five others to rely on. Here, everyone is competing, no matter how helpful they all can be, and his work often doesn’t require his participation. Someone else shows it, and when Tsubaki comes out, poised and elegant as the dress swirls around her, it’s over in less than a minute.

Anxiety rushes out of him as he sighs, slumping back into his seat. That’s finished, done, three months of work ready to be graded. Emi and the others eventually join him, and they can do nothing but wait, applaud, and pack up at the end of the day, trudging back to Asahi’s apartment to sprawl on couches with take-away no one wants and compare the day’s near-disasters.

“If I hadn’t noticed, the model would have walked out with a bulging zip,” finishes Rikako, toying with his noodles.

“How did you fix it?”

“Safety pin and prayer,” he sighs.

“At least you noticed, right?”

“Yours looked amazing, Azumane,” Miho tells him. “I thought for sure your model was going to faint, though.”

“Tsubaki-san was just nervous.”

“Who?” Rikako asks.

“Our model?”

“Oh, was that her name? I forgot.”

“Reason sixty why Asahi-san is a much nicer person than you will ever be,” tuts Miho. “Are you sure you don’t want to date me?”

“Uh,” Asahi says, freezing.

“Leave him alone,” Emi sighs. He has a feeling she suspects where his preferences lie, but she’s never said anything. “He said no, in the nicest, most awkward speech I’ve ever heard.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Asahi begs, ducking his head to email Keishin a picture of a design he’s sure used some actual volleyball netting. He’d never disparage another student’s work, but...this is something that would make Keishin smile, and no one else in Asahi’s circle would understand how hard it was to keep a straight face when the model walked out.

“Why would you want someone hard on the outside and soft on the inside?” Rikako asks, pouting. “I’m tough and wild all the way through.”

He gets pillows thrown at him for that, and when Nishinoya gets back, Rikako loses six consecutive arm-wrestling tournaments.

“ _This_ is tough and wild,” Emi tells him, styling Nishinoya’s hair up into even more unruly spikes.

The grades come out at the end of the fortnight. The downside of having a name like Azumane means he’s always the first or second person to receive their marks, but when Ikari-sensei starts with Abe and moves on to Chiba his stomach disintegrates and a cold sweat breaks out. Emi grabs his wrist under the table.

“And Uotani-san,” Ikari finishes. “Have a good look at all your feedback, but I’m proud to say this year’s class did very well overall. Azumane, a word.”

Emi has to heave Asahi to his feet when his knees refuse to work. The walk to the corridor outside the classroom is barely seven steps but it feels like a hundred, and when the door closes on the speculative whispers Asahi thinks he’s going to be sick.

“How do you think the show went?” Ikari asks, and Asahi digs thumb into palm before he can answer.

“W-well, I think, sir. Everyone d-did their best.”

“And were you happy with the model assigned to you?”

Asahi swallows. “Yes, um, yes sir. Tsubaki-san performed very well, even though she was new. She should be proud.”

Ikari hums. He considers Asahi for a little bit longer, and then hands him the paper under his arm. Asahi stares at it. Wild beasts have never been as dangerous.

“It’s alright, Azumane-san,” Ikari says.

Asahi takes it, aware suddenly that his hands are freezing. Will they expel him for a failing grade? It must be something horrendous for Ikari to have pulled him out of class. With a monumental effort of will, he unfolds the paper.

Ninety-eight out of one hundred.

The pain in his shoulder is Asahi’s only warning that he’s slumped sideways against the wall. “S-sir?”

Ikari chuckles. “Well done. You did well. But the reason I called you out here wasn’t just because of your design, though that was admirable and fulfilled nearly all the requirements. Do you know your model’s name?”

Asahi blinks himself back to comprehension, tearing his eyes away from the highest grade he’s ever gotten in his life. “Her – her name? Not her family name, sir. We were introduced the day before the show and she only said to call her Tsubaki-san.”

“Well, Tsubaki-chan is new to modelling. You in fact were her first designer for a show, and she told her manager afterwards that you were the only reason she didn’t resign. That would have been quite a loss to the industry. We only found out a few days ago that Kaneko, the name she enrolled with, is the married name of her mother, Tsutsumi Himari-san.”

“Tsutsumi? Any relation to Tsutsumi Kanna-san?” Asahi asks, unsure if he’s on the right track.

“Her daughter. Turns out Kaneko Tsubaki-san is our first supermodel’s granddaughter.”

Asahi gapes at his teacher, who grins a little ruefully. “We didn’t know, obviously. The director of the school received a phone call a few days ago from Tsutsumi-san saying how grateful she was that Tsubaki-chan found her nerve to model and asking the director to pass on her best wishes. You know, Azumane-san...when you first enrolled I admit I was sceptical. I didn’t think you had the fortitude to face how cut-throat this industry can be. Now, I think I underestimated you. I look forward to seeing your work in the future.”

He returns to the classroom, giving Asahi a minute to compose himself as terror turns to relief to unbelieving happiness. _My heart’s not made for this_ , Asahi thinks, sinking down onto his heels by the wall and burying his face in his hands.

When he comes back, he slides the report across the table to Emi.

The noise she emits is like a teakettle has had its tail trodden on.

“Something to add, Hatake-san?” Ikari asks, turning around from the blackboard.

“No, sir,” she says, and when he’s turned back she punches Asahi in the shoulder, mouths, _we’re going to celebrate_ , and scrawls an address on his notes.

Asahi’s too jittery to withstand her, so they do. A lot. And then have to sit through Ikari’s next lecture on the proper way to incorporate lace without collapsing.

“I can’t even tell the difference between jean styles,” Nishinoya says the next night, admiring the report. He’d grabbed it off Asahi when Asahi had come home, and after bounding round the room found two spare magnets and stuck it proudly to the fridge. “I think you guys are awesome for designing stuff in the first place.”

“Thanks,” Asahi says, chopping radish. “It’s much more technical than I thought it would be, but I really enjoy it.”

“Good! You and Emi-san are totally rocking it. She’s cool, you should ask her out!”

Asahi barely misses his finger. “Ah, no, well, she’s just a friend,” he stumbles.

“You can date friends, you know.”

“Yes, I know, but, um, but, well, I don’t think I’m going to date Emi.”

Nishinoya stops spinning the top he got in an arcade. “Is this because you don’t think you’re fitting in? I told you, you’re a badass when it counts, Asahi, you just gotta stop being a coward and go for it.”

Asahi puts the knife down, nerves making his hands shake and his stomach go funny. “I just – um, I’m just not looking for a date.”

“Why? Daichi’s been dating Michimiya-san for a year, and Suga’s got a girlfriend! You’re allowed to have fun in Tokyo, you know!”

“I _know_ ,” Asahi snaps, and knows without looking that Nishinoya is staring at him with the same look he used on monster servers like Oikawa and Ushiwaka. “But I’m not going to date Emi, or any girl.”

“Why not?” Nishinoya asks, hopping up to sit on the counter next to him. “Hey, you look like you’re gonna faint.”

Asahi actually might. This is Nishinoya, who has always believed in Asahi. This is his friend, one of his dearest, most steadfast supporters. Oh god, Asahi has never been more terrified. Nishinoya’s always had faith in him – what if this is the breaking point? What if he believes all his support has been wasted?

“It’s because I don’t...like…girls,” Asahi admits in a whisper, scrunching his eyes shut as he leans on his hands till the wood bites into his palms.

“What? Like Kiyoko-san? What’s wrong with Kiyoko-san?” Nishinoya sounds a little offended, of all things, like Asahi’s casting aspersions on her beauty.

“Nothing,” he says, heart thundering. “Nothing’s wrong with her, she’s lovely. I just...I don’t...I can’t think of girls that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I prefer men, Nishinoya,” Asahi says, a little more sharply than he should, head hanging as his words echo around the tiny kitchen.

“Are you...coming out to me?”

Asahi nods.

“In the kitchen, over the radish? Dude! You should have told me, I would have at least turned off the radio!”

He feels a hand smack against his shoulder and grip tightly, shaking him a little. That’s a good sign, right?

“You…wanted me to tell you that I was coming out so you could…set the mood?” he asks, to see if he’s got it right.

“Yeah! Obviously! I would have said whatever you’re thinking you can tell me, because you’re always my friend! Oh shit, I should do that now,” and Nishinoya hops off the counter to wrap his arms briefly but tightly around Asahi’s waist. “It’s all good, yeah? Wait,” he pulls back, staring up at Asahi with fire in his eyes. “Last year, when you were going to cut your hair…it wasn’t just because a guy called you names, was it?”

Of course he still remembers that. Asahi flushes and hunches in on himself. “…Not exactly,” he confesses, avoiding Nishinoya’s gaze. “It was…a club where…people…can go to find…other people…like them.”

“A gay club?” Nishinoya says, cutting straight through like always. “And you…?” He looks confused and worried, but not disgusted.

This is _horrendous_. “I…he wanted things that I…I didn’t…” Asahi manages, wrapping his arms around his torso.

Nishinoya’s arms join his, squeezing him again. “I wish I’d killed him,” he snarls. “Are you okay?”

Asahi laughs, a brief, shaking thing but sincere all the same. “Yeah. I had my guardian looking after me, didn’t I?”

“ _Arrgghhhh_ ,” Nishinoya says, aiming light fists at Asahi. “Don’t say things like that, you’re the ace! And if you don’t want to date a girl, we’ll find you a nice guy, okay? A good one who...I dunno, what do guys look for in other guys?”

Tension slipping away at last, Asahi laughs wetly again, dashing the back of his hand across his eyes. “I don’t know what other guys look for.”

“Dude, what’s your type? I can’t believe I never asked! Oh, who knows?”

“Just my aunts. And you.”

“Really?”

Asahi looks at him, all five foot three of Nishinoya, vibrant and steadfast and determined. “Of course. Who else would I tell first?”

“Oh man, stop trying to make me cry!” Nishinoya scrubs at his own face before punching Asahi in the stomach – lightly for him, but still enough to make Asahi grunt. “So what’s your type?”

“Nishinoya,” he groans, blushing. “Don’t ask me that, I have no idea!”

Crinkled nose, strong jaw, sly grin, warm eyes...no, he has no idea.

“Come on! Don’t be embarrassed! Tell me!” Nishinoya jumps up onto the counter again, swinging his heels. “You gotta have some idea! What do you like? Tall, short, great boo – uh, ass? Legs? Dude, what part do you even like?”

Red like the radishes, Asahi flees as the theme music to an old action movie they both love comes on TV, and the subject drops as the title card comes up. Asahi shouldn’t have doubted Nishinoya, squished onto the couch beside him, because nothing’s changed except for the weight that’s been lifted off his chest.

Although…out on their morning runs Nishinoya starts pointing out random guys and elbowing Asahi, waggling his eyebrows. Asahi wants to combust with mortification. “What about that one?” he’ll whisper on the days they can grab lunch together outside the fashion school. “Is he hot? Or that one? He’s pretty buff, what about him?”

“Oh my god, Noya,” Asahi groans, burying his face in his hands. “No! Not him! And you are never ever allowed to set me up on a blind date!”

The only good thing about the June heat in Tokyo is that even Nishinoya’s boundless energy wilts as the sun radiates down on the concrete metropolis. “Let’s not, and say we did,” Asahi suggests one Saturday morning, feeling the sweat prickle at the back of his neck. And if it gives him a reprieve from dodging Nishinoya’s attempts to work out Asahi’s type, so much the better.

“Ice cream,” Nishinoya decides. “I’m gonna call Morisuke-kun and see if the Nekoma guys want in.”

They meet in the blissful air conditioning of a nearby mall. Suga and his girlfriend Tsuyu, Kai and his girlfriend Homura, Kuroo, Kozume, Yaku, Akaashi and Bokuto all wave as Nishinoya bounds up, Asahi following in his wake.

“It’s too hot,” Nishinoya tells Suga.

“Thank god we’re not running punishment laps!” Suga says, grinning.

“You guys really did seem to like your – sneaky son of a bitch,” Kuroo sighs, staring down at his phone with a wry grin.

“What? What?” Bokuto hangs on Kuroo’s shoulder, on a rare break from his League commitments.

“Oi, stop being rude.” Yaku jabs him in the side and Kuroo winces but doesn’t look up, typing something instead with the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth.

“Tsukki played _nuzzle_ with a blank tile and a Z on a triple-letter score, the little brat. Thirty-four points and a blank deadlocked out of the game.”

“ _Nuzzle_?” Nishinoya repeats, looking blankly to Suga.

“An English word,” Suga explains. “Sounds like they’re playing Scrabble.”

Asahi glances at Akaashi in time to see him and Kozume exchange a long-suffering look. “Ice cream?” He offers, starting to try and herd the group onwards.

“Yes,” Tsuyu grins, grabbing his arm. “Koushi-kun takes forever to decide what he wants, let’s go and buy all the green tea before he gets there.”

“Hey, no fair!” Suga protests just as Yaku begins reciting all the times Suga’s done exactly that.

The heat doesn’t get much better as June becomes July. Yaku’s the first one off to colder climates, accepting an invitation to a Russian league, but Nishinoya picks the opposite direction.

“Man, am I glad I’m not you guys right now!” he howls joyfully as Asahi, Suga, Daichi, Tanaka and Shimizu stand around Narita International fanning themselves. “Sydney’s gonna be so damn awesome!”

“Have you got your passport and ticket?” Asahi asks.

“Asahi, that’s the fourth time you’ve asked,” Suga sighs.

“He already left it once in the bathroom,” Daichi winces.

“Dude! You’ll be fine! It’ll be totally amazingly mind-blowingly badass!”

Nishinoya and Tanaka chest-bump tearfully as Shimizu adds another bottle of aloe water to Nishinoya’s backpack. “There,” she says, zipping it up. “You should be all ready.”

“Thanks, Kiyoko-san! Make sure to keep Ryuu out of trouble for me, okay?”

She graces him with a light hug, cheeks pink. “I’ll do my best. When are you back?”

“Next February for my grandpa’s eightieth,” he says, putting both thumbs up. “So you won’t have to miss me for too long!”

Daichi pulls him into a hug, ruffling his hair. “We’ll miss you anyway, you know that. Take care, okay? Have fun, and if you need anything just call me.”

“Sure thing! I’ll buy you call some cool souvenirs!”

Suga grabs him next, squeezing tight. “Take lots of photos, and enjoy yourself,” he says tearfully.

“Don’t worry about me, make sure you look after Asahi! Good luck teaching, Suga!”

Tanaka and Nishinoya spend a minute clinging to each other, muttering half-complete phrases that make perfect sense to them and mystify everyone else. Then Nishinoya makes his way over to Asahi.

Asahi was fine a second ago, but now that Nishinoya is standing in front of him, Asahi can feel the tears start to well up.

“Oh man, Noya,” he manages, and reaches out as Nishinoya jumps up.

“Don’t cry, Asahi! It’s not forever!” Nishinoya wraps his arms around Asahi’s neck despite his words, crushing him close.

Asahi nods, sobbing into Nishinoya’s shoulder anyway.

“Remember, you’re the ace,” Nishinoya mutters quietly into his ear. “And you can find any dude who’ll make you happy, okay? I’ll kill anyone who says different.”

“I believe you,” Asahi hiccups, squeezing Nishinoya once more before putting back on his feet.

“Good, you should. I’m Karasuno’s guardian!”

“I know,” Asahi smiles through his tears. “Take care of yourself, and don’t worry about us. You just enjoy the world.”

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says hoarsely, gathering his things, checking his passport, and looking at everyone once more. “Yeah, I will. There’s so much out there, and it’s gonna be awesome.”

“Damn right it will,” says Daichi. “Go on, then, you’d better get through customs.”

“Look after yourselves! Enjoy the heat, and think of me on Bondi Beach!” Nishinoya beams at them, tugs at the straps on his backpack, nods once and spins on his heel. They stand there by the check-in desks, watching.

“Is he going to turn around?” Suga asks quietly.

“No,” says Asahi, smiling. “He won’t.”

Between one blink and the next, Nishinoya disappears into the sterile corridor towards passport control, and they let out a collective breath.

“Well,” Daichi says quietly. “I guess every bird has to leave their nest.”

“We’ll be here next year watching Hinata go,” Asahi adds. “You’re definitely going to cry much more then.”

Suga punches him.

When they reach September, though, a chill sweeps the eastern coast and Nishinoya’s continuous beach pictures get more appealing. Asahi smiles down at his phone at the sight of Nishinoya buried up to his head before trying to focus on creating something out of this assessment’s materials without it looking like the Rocky Horror Picture Show on a bad budget. Across the workshop, Emi is glaring at her material so fiercely it’s a good thing humans can’t ignite things with their mind.

“Azumane, help,” moans Rikako, collapsing by Asahi’s workbench.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t work out the dimensions!”

“Let me see,” Asahi says, pulling the paper toward him. “Oh, the bias looks like it’s been mirrored.”

“Can you map the measurements for me?”

Asahi glances at his own complex pattern and hesitates. “I’ve got some things due...”

“Please, man? You can just power through your stuff later like you always do.”

Rikako darts off, saying something about his material, but he doesn’t come back until after lunch and only to ask Asahi to look at his second design. Asahi bites his lip –

“He can’t,” snaps Emi, appearing by his shoulder and glaring at Rikako. “He’s got his own work to do, unlike some people.”

“Uh, I might have time after I finish here,” Asahi begins, but Emi kicks him in the shins.

“Azumane, your phone,” Sumire calls. “And Rikako, piss off.”

“See?” Emi hisses at Asahi.

He shrugs at her and rummages in his bag. Mae rarely calls him during the day, so he steps outside into the corridor.

“Renovations?” he repeats weakly a minute later.

“Yes, dear, weren’t you listening? Is there any way you could come back for a while, and help your aunt? I know I’m asking a lot, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving Sae to deal with the contractors alone. Is there a long distance study option you can take?”

Asahi rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know, Aunt Mae, I’ll have to check...it’s really busy here, we’ve just started our winter portfolio...”

“It’s still a month away,” Mae points out. “It would be a big help, and Sae would love to see you more.”

He winces. “I’ll call you back?”

Ending the call, Asahi lets himself sink to his heels. Of all the times...how can he go back to Miyagi now? But how will Sae cope without either him or Mae there?

“What’s wrong?” Emi asks, sitting down beside him.

Asahi sighs. “My aunts’ house needs some renovations, and Mae wants me to come back to Miyagi for a few months while it goes ahead. She’s been asked to study in Kyoto and doesn’t want to leave Sae alone.”

“Sae is the high-strung one with the headaches? So what’s wrong with Miyagi? After this last portfolio we should be calming down. The teachers are gonna be too busy with the American school’s latest release to think of stuff to give us.”

“I can’t just head back to Miyagi this time of year! You know how the industry works –”

“You can take a long-distance study,” Emi argues. “Or take a design brief with someone in the country and do it that way.”

“I can’t,” Asahi reiterates, burying his face in his hands and scrunching fists into his hair.

“Why not?”

“Because I was the ace,” Asahi snaps, looking up. “Because when there was a wall in my way I powered through. Because when the chips were down and the last ball was up my team trusted me to make it count. Because I ran away once and I regretted it.”

“Asahi,” Emi says gently, “that was when you had a team. These people? They aren’t your team. They might be friends, but you have to see the way Rikako is using you. You have to see how he isn’t pulling his weight at all, is just relying on other people for inspiration and motivation. I believe that you were an amazing ace, but the ball isn’t in play here. It’s a one-man show.”

He feels her words drop like a ball tipped over the block, falling into the unguarded space inside him.

“I told myself to survive in Tokyo, because I wasn’t brave or outgoing or interesting like my teammates, I had to be the one to push through anything,” he says quietly.

“You idiot,” Emi sighs, plopping down next to him and shoving her elbow into his side. “You _are_ brave. You talked to me our first day, you know the names of all our models, you went to buy Miho pads at midnight – what do I have to say to make you believe how amazing you are? You don’t need to bear everyone else’s burdens to prove you’re strong. You’re already turned me into a motivational speaker, there aren’t many more miracles you can achieve. So, are you going to go back to Miyagi?”

He breathes in, holds it, and nods, rubbing a thumb over his keychain. The white number’s a little faded with how much he’s handled it.

“Good man! It’ll be good for them. Your aunt’s staying with a friend, right?”

“Yeah, she’s –” Asahi breaks off. “Where am I going to stay?”

“Huh?”

“She’s staying with a friend nearby but Sasaki-san only has two bedrooms. I have some old classmates, but I haven’t spoken to them in ages! Daichi is in Sendai but his accommodation is through the police, I don’t think I could sleep on his floor for three months. Emi, why did I say I could go?”

“Because you’re a soft and squishy idiot?”

“You just said –”

“I know, but I forgot to take into account how spacey you can be!”

“I am not! I’ll just call…”

The answer swims into his head, not illicit, no, but something tempting and a little secretive.

“Who?”

“Some other friends, see if they can help,” he finishes, ignoring how his heart rate has increased. It was just a crush in April. It’s September – they’re just friends.

It takes few days of negotiating with the faculty, but finally Asahi finagles a long-distance study term – thank god for Yachi-san’s contacts. Back in his apartment, he curls up on his bed with his phone pressed to his ear and forehead pressed to the window. The night outside is lit by signs and street lamps, but he can distantly see the moon rising slowly above the buildings. It would be clearer in Miyagi.

The call goes on and on, but just as he’s about to hang up and ask Daichi if maybe his parents wouldn’t mind a guest, it’s answered.

“Asahi?”

“Uh, hi, yes, um, it’s me. How – how are you?”

Keishin laughs, a rough chuckle in Asahi’s ear. “I’m good. Same as always, really. Just finished the last training camp before the October prelims. But I get the feeling you didn’t call just for the team. What’s up?”

Asahi rubs a hand through his hair, laughing nervously. “I mean, I’m always happy to hear how the team’s going, but...”

“But?”

He sighs. “I really hate this. How do you even ask?”

“I don’t know,” Keishin says, amused. “Maybe you should try.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay. Well, my aunts are having some renovations done on their house but Aunt Mae has been invited south to study with some Edo historians.”

“Huh. That’ll be interesting.”

“She’s very excited, but she’s worried about leaving Aunt Sae alone. Sae has to move out and she’ll be staying with a friend, but her health isn’t very good and so I got a long-distance study in Sendai but…I forgot that I don’t have anywhere to stay.”

“So stay with me,” Keishin says like it’s nothing. “Was that what you were going to ask?”

“Um, yes? Do you – is that okay? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I’ve got an extra futon, I can shove some of the stuff in the study aside.”

“But it’s – Aunt Mae thinks it’ll be a few months. I’ve applied for a three-month break, so I don’t want to be an inconvenience. I would have asked Daichi, but he’s in cadet barracks.”

“Three months? That’ll be alright, man-bun. I’m out of the house most of the time working at the store and coaching, and I guess you’ll be studying. We won’t get in each other’s way.”

“Are you sure?” Asahi asks again, tugging at his hair. To be honest, being back in Miyagi with Keishin...it sounds almost too good to be true. If he ruined their friendship by getting on each other’s nerves he’d never forgive himself.

“Asahi, it’s no problem.”

Asahi sighs in relief. “Thank you! I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“What? No way! Don’t be an idiot, you’ll be keeping up your rent and tuition and everything back in Tokyo, there’s no need to pay me too.”

“But –”

“We can work out some sort of chore thing if you’re that desperate to help out, but there’s no way I’m taking money from one of my team.”

“Thank you,” he breathes, grinning widely. “Thanks so much, Keishin-san, I really appreciate it. I won’t get under your feet, I promise.”

“Nah, it’ll be nice to have some company. Shimada’s off with his girlfriend most nights and Tattsun and I can only spend so much time playing pool before we hate each other’s guts. One condition, though. Drop the honorifics, okay? Makes me feel old.”

Asahi laughs, relieved. “I’ll do my best.”

“So when do I need to have the study ready by?”

“October second,” Asahi glances at his calendar, “until December twenty-first. It’s not quite three months, actually. The renovations are supposed to finish mid-December, but...”

“You never know,” agrees Keishin. “What day is the second?”

“A Friday.”

“Great, I can pick you up from the bus station after practice if you get one of the later buses.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to worry about –”

“What’s that? Yes, Friday second, pick up at the bus stop, sounds great? Glad to hear it, man-bun! I’ll see you then!”

“...I’ll see you then,” Asahi gives in, smiling. “Thank you so much.”

He hangs up once he hears Keishin do the same and curls up on his bed. Okay, looks like open-hearted generosity and a warm, low laugh are on his list, but somehow he doesn’t think he’ll be telling Nishinoya.

“Get a grip,” he tells himself. “He’s just a friend, helping you out. Don’t make it weird.”

But for Keishin to so readily extend the invitation...does that mean he’s forgotten about January? Or that he never deemed it important enough to worry about?

Somehow, neither option is appealing – which is stupid, because Asahi does _not_ have a crush, and is _not_ looking for a boyfriend. He has to graduate, get a job, and look after his aunts. Guys like him don’t get boyfriends.

_Give it to me, daddy…_

No time to dwell on unpleasant piles on the side of memory lane. He has to prepare his portfolio for the long-distance study and think about what to pack, what to leave, who to get to look after the apartment.

Oh god, the apartment...

“Oh, that would be perfect!” Suga says when Asahi calls him to panic. “Tsuyu’s sister is coming up to study and hasn’t looked at accommodation yet. Maybe she can pay you the rent and stay there. When’re you back?”

“Near the end of December, if everything works out. Would that be alright, Suga? It would really help.”

“Sure! I’ll call and check. Don’t worry so much! You’ll go bald by thirty.”

Asahi scowls and ends the call before booting up his laptop. Nishinoya might share Suga’s delight in teasing Asahi about his hair-loss worries, but his confidence always makes everything seem doable.

“You’re staying with Coach?” Nishinoya cackles over the connection. “That’ll be hilarious!”

“It won’t be that funny,” Asahi sighs. “Remember I played a lot with the Association team? We hung out plenty.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Nishinoya says. “Wanna hear how I nearly got punched by a kangaroo?”

Emi drops him at the bus station two weeks later. The bad thing about not telling anyone about the crush is not having anyone to rant to as the bus drives him closer and closer to Keishin’s curving smirk, his eyes, his warm voice and the confidence in his shoulders.

“Man-bun!”

Oh god it’s just same – “Hello, Keishin-san!”

“Ah, remember the deal?”

Asahi blushes despite himself, shrugging his backpack on more securely. “...Keishin.”

“There, didn’t kill you. These yours?”

“Yes, but don’t worry!”

Too late: Keishin grabs both of Asahi’s bags and marches off towards the car. Asahi is left to grab his big portfolio folder and follow, clutching his cardigan round him as the wind blows off the mountain. Keishin’s hair is free of dye, and it makes him look more than ever like a crow coach.

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it,” Asahi says again when they’re in the car.

“Don’t mention it – seriously. It’s fine. You’d do the same for any of us. So, where to first?”

“I should see my aunt, but then I’ll buy us dinner.”

Keishin sighs through a grin. “If it’ll stop you thanking me, I’ll let you buy us dinner.”

Aunt Sae drifts out of the house to greet them. “Asa-chan,” she says, hugging him. “Thank you for coming. I don’t know if I would have found the fortitude to face the builders alone. Mae is so impetuous.”

“Yes, Aunt Sae,” he agrees, tucking her shawl more securely around her. “This is Ukai Keishin-san, my coach from volleyball. He’s letting me stay with him.”

It isn’t until Keishin is bowing to his aunt that Asahi experiences a moment of sudden, panicked doubt. _Oh god, what if she figures it out_?

“You’re very kind to my nephew,” Sae says quietly.

“It’s nothing, really,” Keishin says, and Asahi’s heart skips a beat hearing how Keishin’s softened his voice for Sae. “He’s a friend, and one of my team.”

“I’m glad. Would you like to come in for tea?”

Keishin glances at Asahi, who shakes his head. “Perhaps tomorrow? I’ll buy something for Sasaki-san too and come and talk to you properly about the renovations.”

“Alright. I’m happy to have you back, dearest.” Her eyes are a little too sharp as she glances between Keishin and Asahi, but that could be because she’s never seen Asahi interact with any good-looking men before. Sae might decline to join her twin’s speculation on his love life, but she’s just as quietly invested.

“I’m glad to be home,” he says truthfully.

Stepping into Keishin’s study feels like it, too. The view over the mountains, sunset blushing colour across the sky, is similar to the one his old bedroom had; Tokyo is bright and brilliant, but he just wants to be able to see the sky, hear the birdsong, and watch the leaves turn.

“Comfortable?” Keishin asks over dinner. Even the scent of his cigarettes is familiar, fitting neatly back into Asahi’s mind in the way the same scent in Tokyo never managed.

“Very,” Asahi nods. “I’ve missed the quiet. Nothing happens in Tokyo without it being loud.”

“Yeah, I thought so too when I spent a year there after high school. Part of me wonders if I should have tried to do something more, but...” he shrugs.

“But you’re doing amazing things here! You turned Karasuno back into a powerhouse.”

“Oh, I don’t regret coming back. I just wonder. You think you’ll come back?”

“I hope so. I’d like to, but I’ll probably have to start working in Tokyo to get a foothold in the industry, and then transfer out. There are some designers in Sendai. I guess...” he rubs the back of his neck, smiling ruefully. “It’s odd thinking that I’m trying to make my way back when all the first-years are trying to fly on.”

Keishin slouches back in his chair. “God, don’t I know it. Did you see Kageyama’s first game in the V League? Little genius blew them out of the water.”

Asahi laughs. “I did. He was amazing, and Suga was all fake-grumpy, you know how he gets.”

“Some things never change,” Keishin grins.

Settling back into Miyagi feels like that too. He’d been terrified as usual on his first day, hands shaking in his pockets as he’d walked up to the door, but somehow it’s easier to be brave in Miyagi. He doesn’t recognise any of the faces in the Karasuno uniform, but the streets are still the same, and the slow pace of the cars, the faulty neon letter in Igarashi’s Ramen, the way the mountains look like they’re haloed when the sun sets behind them...

He inhales the crisp autumn air with relish, tipping his head back and smiling at the sunset.

“Open skies are good for crows,” Keishin grins, pausing by the curb with groceries in hand.

Asahi laughs, the wind tugging at his loose hair. The vegetables are heavy in his arms and every now and then a stray strand flicks his eye, but Asahi can’t remember the last time he was this _content_ , lights flickering on in their wake as the sun retreats behind the mountains.

“How did the first week of renovations go?”

Asahi pulls a face.

“That bad?”

“Not bad, exactly,” he temporises. “Just complex. The dining room wall can’t be knocked out without the kitchen tiles being moved, but the kitchen tiles can’t be moved until the carpenter makes the frame for the new sliding doors...I think the foreman has it under control but it seems like nothing is being built except a lot of plastic and scaffolding.”

Keishin nods, “When my parents had their bathroom redone it was a bit like that. You don’t see anything happening and then the next day an entire wall’s been ripped out.”

“I’m just glad Mae convinced Sae to move out. I was only there for an hour and I got a headache.”

“Really? I can cook tonight, then.”

Asahi laughs. “It’s not that bad, don’t worry.”

“...is that a polite way of saying you don’t like my cooking?”

The first time he’d said that, Asahi had stammered and stuttered and hurried to assure him that no, of course Asahi liked Keishin’s cooking, and he was really grateful for the gesture, and that sometimes rice was more exciting when it was crispy, and didn’t everyone like it when leeks were either mushy or raw...Keishin had laughed so hard he’d collapsed on the sofa and Asahi, blushing fit to burst, had forgotten his manners enough to whack him with a tea towel.

Now Asahi just grins, hoisting the vegetables higher in his arms. “Of course I do, I’m just excited to try out my aunt’s curry recipe.”

“Nice save, man-bun,” Keishin chuckles.

He settles at the kitchen table with his laptop out while Asahi prepares the vegetables. “We don’t have to play in the first round of Nationals prelims, but we barely scraped through the Inter-High semi-finals against Wakunan.” Keishin starts a game on screen, and Asahi recognises the pink against the dark green of Date Tech. “D’you mind?”

“Not at all,” Asahi reassures him, and the cigarette is lit. “Karasuno’s never won an Inter-High final, though,” he adds. “We’re always a Spring Nationals team.”

“Yeah, but Seijoh’s on fire this year. They went to the Inter-High, and they’re going to be the ones to beat going into October.”

“I heard Oikawa’s playing professionally in Argentina,” Asahi tells him, and Keishin whistles.

The sound of the knife on the chopping board and the sizzle of the pan is cut through with whistles and shouts, the slam of the ball and Keishin’s occasional noise of interest. Just as he turns off the stove, Keishin moves the laptop and grabs the bowls. “Do you mind if I get Specs and Soma around some time? Usually they invite me over for dinner, but with you here I’d feel less like a third wheel.”

Asahi hands him the ladle. “I hadn’t heard they’d moved in together! Daichi is slacking off in his role as Sendai newsman. You don’t have to ask, this is your apartment.”

“But I need to bribe you into cooking,” Keishin says, adding another scoop of curry. “Geez, thank your aunt for me, yeah? You gotta stop making such good food or I’ll starve when you leave.”

Asahi ducks his head in delight. “I’m glad you like it. Cooking for just myself in Tokyo is boring. Of course I’d be happy to cook for Takeda-sensei and Soma-san.”

“Awesome,” Keishin says. “Soma’s a real sweetheart and Takeda deserves someone as hardworking and cheerful as he is, but being the third wheel gets a little old. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were married by next Christmas.”

“Really?” Asahi stares. “Wow, that’s amazing! I had no idea it was so serious. Suga’s going to be so excited!”

“How’s he doing? Surviving his kids?”

Asahi pulls out his phone to show Keishin Suga’s latest picture of the elementary class he’s been assisting until his graduation next April. Suga has confetti in his hair, paint on his shirt, and the biggest smile across his face.

“God, I could not do that,” Keishin laughs. “High school volleyball is enough for me.”

“I can barely deal with adults,” Asahi sighs, and Keishin tugs at his hair as he walks past.

Asahi joins the Association for a few games the next week – Mori has apparently moved to Osaka – and Shimada and Takinoue are pleased to see him. _It’s so nice_ , Asahi thinks, watching Shimada heckle Keishin in their usual ramen joint, _that the people I think of as friends are actually happy to see me too_.

Tanaka’s also overjoyed to have him back, and gets him a discount for the gym. Asahi never doubted Tanaka’s fortitude and determination, but seeing him in action, encouraging and supporting and motivating every client who walks in, makes Asahi so proud he almost bursts into tears at the sight of their first Nationals photo framed and hung pride of place behind the reception desk. He makes a weekend trip into Sendai too, to see Daichi, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi and Ennoshita.

“Sometimes I wish Miyagi had changed,” he murmurs to Keishin one night, both of them on the couch and watching one of Kageyama’s matches. A chill is creeping down off the mountains and the moon is bright and heavy in the sky; Keishin had opened some sake to commemorate his parents’ wedding anniversary and the heat in Asahi’s stomach makes him a little sleepy. “Or, didn’t still feel so much like everything I knew. Being back...makes me think how different Tokyo really is.”

“Why d’you think I fought so hard when Specs bugged me to become coach? Because I felt like Karasuno and the gym were a perfect little time capsule, and if it had changed, it wouldn’t be what I remembered, and if it hadn’t changed, then I still couldn’t have it back.”

Asahi considers this and nods, tucking the blanket more securely around him. Onscreen, Kageyama dumps the ball over the net while a triple block gathers around his ace at the far left, and they cheer.

Keishin drums his fingers on his thigh as they settle into the second set, and though Asahi makes a conscious effort not to glance at Keishin’s mouth, he can see a muscle twitching in his jaw.

“Is everything alright?” he asks. “You seem a little…distracted.”

“Hmm?” Keishin glances at him. “Oh, that. I’m trying to cut down on smoking, but nicotine cravings are a bitch. Sorry, I meant to say something earlier. I might not be the nicest person for a while, so if I snap at you or something, don’t take it personally.”

“Oh! Of course not, I understand. Do you have any gum? It’s supposed to help.”

“It might, actually. Didn’t think about that.”

Asahi nods, “A classmate tried that last year and seemed to quit fairly easily. Is there anything I can do to help? I mean, if it wouldn’t get on your nerves. I know I hated it when Suga tried to police my ice cream intake.”

“I can’t imagine you hating anything.”

“Well, I disliked it and grumbled a lot on my head,” Asahi owns, and Keishin laughs.

“I’ll let you know. Are you back late tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll be in the studio with McAndrews-san until we get the new European line catalogued. He’s only here till the end of the week, so we’re on a tight schedule.”

“Where the hell’s he from again?”

“Glasgow,” Asahi says, grinning. “I can only understand half of what he says.”

The chance to learn from European professionals is definitely worth staying late for, but it means he only sees Keishin briefly by the coffeepot in the mornings before they go their separate ways. It’s only ten days until the Nationals prelims, and Keishin is focused on refining strategies and plays. Asahi tries to help where he can but often that’s nudging Keishin to bed before midnight.

“How’s my idiot son?” Ukai-san asks when Asahi stops by the store the next morning.

He rubs his chin. “He’s…very focused on the team.”

She sighs. “I’m sure, and staying up all hours. I don’t know if I’ve said it, Azumane-kun, but I’m glad you and Keishin-kun became friends. He needs more people his own age to care about, not just high schoolers. Here, have another,” and she tucks the bun into the bag, daring Asahi to refuse.

“Oh, I couldn’t – thank you very much, Ukai-san. And I’m glad to be Keishin-san’s friend. He’s a dedicated coach,” Asahi says, the warmth of the bun in his hands matching the one in his chest.

“He’s a crow through and through,” his mother tuts. “And I can tell by your expression he’s snapped at you about the cigarettes. I apologise on his behalf.”

“No, he apologised straight away,” Asahi assures her. It hadn’t even been a storm in a teacup; he’s had worse from both Daichi and Emi. Keishin had been stressed and tired, and immediately repentant. Asahi’s not _too_ much of a glass-heart these days, besides.

“So he should,” says Ukai-san, and adjusts Asahi’s scarf for him before he steps outside into the chill.

The studio hosting his long-distance study is small but welcoming, and has enough sockets for everyone’s laptops. His co-workers are all pleasant and Katsuki-sensei, who runs the department, is a veteran of the industry.

“Now, what’s wrong with this?” she asks, projecting an image of a blouse on the screen.

“Seam colour’s off,” Nanashima says immediately.

“Yes. And the other thing?”

Asahi spins his pencil between his fingers. “The overlocker hasn’t been adjusted properly?”

“Good. I want a page telling me how you’d fix it and the improvements you’d make by the time you go home tonight. Get to it.”

Tanjiro widens his eyes dramatically at Asahi, who smiles a little in commiseration but turns to his own workbench. It’s refreshing to get back to basics.

As the sunlight turns that lustrous gold of early afternoon Asahi stands with two pieces of paper in his hands and approaches the director’s desk with all the fortitude Mae so often declaims.

“Yes, Azumane?”

“Please accept my page of adjustments that you requested this morning,” he says, laying the first one down, “and…if you have time, Katsuki-san, I would be honoured if you would glance at this.”

Even more cautiously does he lay down his design for a woman’s suit jacket, with three tiny silver buttons gleaming discretely at the wrist.

“What would you like me to do with it after I glance at it?” Katsuki-san asks, matching action to word before directing her piercing look back up at Asahi.

But in the fortnight he’s been here, he’s learned a little of how she works. Besides, if there’s one thing Tokyo has honed in him, it’s keeping calm under pressure. Match-points and deadlines: only the very best can scare him now. “Tear it apart, please,” he says, “and tell me how to rebuild it even better.”

“Hmm,” she says, mouth curving. “Alright, off with you.”

The bus drops him off at the foot of the school, and it’s early enough that Asahi turns right instead of left. The gym is loud with the noise of impact, of feet and voices, and when he comes to a halt at the window by the door, it still feels a little like home.

“Move your feet!” Keishin’s bellowing. “You want them to score points off you? Arms out, weight on the balls of your feet!”

“Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!”

It looks like the fourteen boys inside are practicing receives under Keishin’s relentless arm. Asahi smiles at the memories, leaning a shoulder against the wall. Aheno, Toke and Namikawa have grown so much, but he can still recognise them. The others, though…he doesn’t even know the manager. A stray ball whizzes out of the doorway netting, interrupting his thoughts, and since it would be less strange to be found catching a runaway than lurking by the window Asahi scoops it up as Toke reaches the door.

“Oh! Um, thank you…?”

“You’re welcome,” Asahi says, tossing it back to him. Toke catches it, but continues staring. Then, his face brightens.

“Azumane-san! Number three, Nishinoya-senpai’s senpai!”

Asahi laughs sheepishly, “That’s me! I’m honoured you still remember.”

“Of course! You were at my first Nationals! What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m back in Miyagi for a few months, and I thought I’d stop by.”

“Come in!”

“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt –” Asahi starts, before Keishin sticks his head out, shouting for Toke. When he sees Asahi he breaks off, then grins.

“Whatcha doing here, man-bun?”

“He came to see us,” Toke says. “The first-years will be excited! We have pictures of all the Nationals teams in the clubroom, he’s like a celebrity!”

“Oh no,” Asahi grimaces at the same time Keishin grins, “Oh yes.”

Toke tugs him through the door as Keishin shouts to the team, “Look who we have here, our very own celebrity.”

The boys all pause and stare, and Asahi blushes, waving awkwardly as he unlaces his boots.

“Aheno, Namikawa, it’s good to see you again,” he says.

“Oh, Azumane-san!” Namikawa says to Aheno, elbowing him and hurrying up to say hello. “Number three, the ace from the year before we joined! The first year Karasuno went back to the Nationals.”

Asahi does his best to remember names as he’s mobbed by the younger students. Two of them are even taller than he is, and he wonders if they’d been taller than Tsukishima too. Toke is probably the same height as Nishinoya, and beside him is the new first-year libero.

“Good timing, man-bun,” Keishin tells him. “We’re working on receives. Get up on that table and spike.”

“Oh, no, I can’t –” he tries to say, but Keishin just sets his broad, warm palms into Asahi’s shoulder blades and pushes. For heaven’s sake, he’s wearing jeans and a boatneck sweater cut loose and blousy under his arms. His hair isn’t even in its eponymous bun: his elastic tie broke earlier. But he knows that glint in Keishin’s eye, after staying with him for a month – it’s the same one he gets when there’s one mochi left and he’s daring Asahi to joust chopsticks with him.

“Alright,” he says, tugging the sweater over his head and handing it to Keishin before tucking his hair as best he can down the neck of his singlet. At least he wore the black one today, and not the white with the holes in the seam.

“What?” he asks, when he’s finished and Keishin is still nearby, staring. “I know I don’t have shoes, but it should be alright.”

“I’ll see if I can find some,” Keishin says, finally stepping away. He sounds a little hoarse; maybe Asahi should make him some lemon and honey when they get home.

He stretches his arm briefly and then hops up onto the table, barefoot. Toke is first in line, determined. The resulting slam into forearm is a little weak: the libero gets it neatly up to Keishin, waiting as setter by the net.

“Good,” he says. “Four more, then switch. Asahi, hit them harder.”

“I’m just warming up,” he grins.

The team is good with receives, he thinks, as the last player lifts his fifth spike after only losing two. Asahi’s stronger now than he was when he was younger, but he’s lost his conditioning, his muscle-memory. Still, nearly all of the team shakes out their arms, comparing red blotches.

“Seijoh has a few servers now with Oikawa’s power,” Keishin tells him, handing over a pair of shoes, “but not his control. They’re definitely the team to beat.”

Asahi nods. “They managed to be a consistent top-four team. I don’t think I can still jump serve accurately enough to help, though.”

“Nah,” Keishin says, shaking his head. “I don’t want to take up the rest of your afternoon.”

“I finished early, so really, I’m free,” Asahi volunteers. The setting sun spills deep orange across Keishin’s face, but since he’s here only as a friend, Asahi determinedly doesn’t notice.

“See if you can work with the blockers, then. Aheno’s learned enough from Tsukishima to keep us afloat, and we’ve finally got some consistent height.”

When they leave that night, Asahi’s shaking out his own forearms.

“We’ve definitely got some spikers,” he says ruefully, tugging his jumper on as the chill settles.

“You need some practice, man-bun, but you’re not too bad. Thanks for coming in.”

Asahi smiles, ducking his head. “I don’t know that I did anything special, but it was good to work with the team again. Thanks for letting me.” He tucks his hands under his arms as the breeze picks up.

“D’you want a jacket or something?”

Keishin’s only wearing his track jacket, and it might take a moment for it to fully register in Asahi’s head but once it does, his heart scrunches and every shojo manga he’s ever read blossoms unhelpfully in his head. “Oh, no, no, of course not! You’ll catch a chill without it, and your muscles need it!”

“Good to know some of the things I yelled at you lot got through,” Keishin grins. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Asahi says faintly. “What…what do you want for dinner?”

Keishin hums thoughtfully, waving at Takinoue’s father as they pass the electrical shop. “Yakiniku? I bought some beef the other day, didn’t I?”

“Yes, sounds good. When you like to have Takeda-sensei and Soma-san over?”

“Oh yeah, he’s been nagging me about that. After the prelims, I guess. Whenever you’re not studying late.”

“Not Thursdays, then.”

“Sure, I’ll check. If there’s anything you need, just write it down on the list. Or buy it and I’ll pay you back.”

“No, I can buy groceries. I’m eating your food too!”

Keishin argues, but Asahi stands as firm as he can, despite the nine years’ difference between himself and his old coach who probably could have told the team to run upside down on the ceiling and been obeyed. “No, I am buying groceries and I am not going to change my mind.”

Keishin opens his mouth, glances at Asahi’s determined expression, and says instead, “You know, I never forgot you were our ace, but damn if it doesn’t surprise me when you pull it out.”

Asahi’s face catches fire, and at least a cross-breeze picks up so he can hide his expression in his attempt to corral his flyaway hair. “I don’t – you – I –”

And _pull it out,_ Christ, he’s never looked for innuendo before so for the love of god do not start now!

But Keishin still thinks of him as the ace, so he must be doing something right…

Keishin laughs again, tucking his hands into his pockets. “It’s true. You were damn good. And Soma showed me your school fashion magazine once with some of your designs in it – that’s pretty impressive.”

Forget fire, Asahi is about to explode. “Oh…wow…th-thank you! That’s…I mean…”

“I mean, I have no idea about fashion, but I could tell it was yours, you know?”

Asahi stops dead on the sidewalk a few metres from the steps to Keishin’s apartment. “You…you could?”

Keishin turns, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I think so. Before I saw your name, I was fairly sure. It was that…” he gestures in the air in front of him. “The kimono with the constellations? I saw it, and how the model was standing, and like I said, I know absolutely nothing about fashion but I thought, she’s standing like it makes her strong, like she could take on any wall in her way. That’s why you went into fashion design, isn’t it?”

The world stops.

The world starts again, and nothing’s changed, but everything’s different.

“Are you – are you crying, man-bun?” Keishin asks, chuckling a little as Asahi tips sideways against the building wall, hands over his face.

“…No,” he sniffs. “I’m just…c-catching my breath.”

“Catch it inside, it’s cold out here.”

“That’s –” he has to find some way to explain this, to tell Keishin how much it means to hear that. “That’s…that’s the most amazing thing anyone’s said to me…thank you.”

“Then you’re working with a whole bunch of idiots in Tokyo,” Keishin says breezily, ushering Asahi inside. “Want some tea? Then we can start on dinner.”

Asahi steps into the study as Keishin heads for the kitchen, breathing carefully like the symphony inside him might overflow, might overwhelm the world in harmonious cacophony, if he makes one wrong move.

He’s succeeded before. He went to Nationals, won a design competition, and scored ninety-eight out of a hundred, but to hear that from someone whose opinion he values so highly…

Asahi breathes carefully, smacks both hands into his cheeks, and emerges five minutes later so happy he doesn’t know how people’s ribcages are supposed to stand it.

* * *

Sae remarks on his good mood when Asahi takes her to see the renovations, and he shrugs, smiling.

“Being in Miyagi agrees with me,” he says, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“It does seem to,” she concurs. “But you need a haircut, Asa-chan. Go and see Sasaki-san tomorrow, the ends are splitting.”

“Not tomorrow,” Asahi says. “Karasuno’s playing in the finals. I’ll go next week.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise it was that time of year already,” Sae notes. “Good fortune for the team.”

“Thank you,” he says. He’s seen videos of Seijoh’s matches – they’re going to need it. He’d asked Keishin to text him at the end of each game, an assignment running long meaning Asahi was stuck in studio over the weekend, and Karasuno had won most games relatively comfortably. Date Tech was knocked out by Seijoh, and Wakunan by Shiratorizawa; the game against Johzenji in the third round and the semi-finals against Shiratorizawa were the only three-set nail-biting drawn-out fights for victory.

Asahi makes sure to have some honey tea prepared for Keishin when he gets home after the team’s last meeting.

“Thanks, man-bun,” Keishin croaks, gulping it down.

“I wish I could have watched,” Asahi sighs.

Keishin grins, accepting a top-up. “You’d have bitten your nails down to the quick. Shiratorizawa’s still a strong opponent, and the Demon Coach is probably going to keep on going until he actually has a heart attack on the sidelines.”

Asahi laughs. “How’s the team? You said Aheno sprained a finger?”

“It seems to be a Thing,” Keishin sighs, dropping down onto the couch and draping an arm over his face. “Three times in three years: a middle blocker spraining a finger only seems to happen with Shiratorizawa. He should be fine, and if not, Nishigori is ready to step in.”

“And tomorrow?” asks Asahi, perching on the arm of the couch when Keishin shifts his feet a little.

A hand fumbles blindly for the cigarette box on the table; Asahi gently slides it out of reach and offers a yoghurt drink instead. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”

Keishin mutters something under his breath but relents, sitting up to drink. “Tomorrow…I have to be confident for those boys, and I know they have the drive and desire for the victory, but they’re going to have to pull out all the stops.”

“They can do it,” Asahi says.

The next morning, Asahi meets up with Tanaka, Shimizu, Shimada and Takinoue before the game and they join the Karasuno cheering section, orange wrapped around them.

“Oh boy, can you feel the tension?” Tanaka says, peering around. “Seijoh’s out for blood.” 

“It’s going to be difficult,” Shimada says, watching the team warm up. Asahi nods, staring at the familiar blue and white. For all that Nekoma is their ultimate rival, Aoba Johsai is their true challenger. When the umpire whistles, Namikawa and Seijoh’s captain, a tall, broad middle blocker, shake hands and wait for the toss.

“Numbers one, three and six are their best servers,” Takinoue says, pointing them out. “Toke can lift most of them, but if they get into the groove, it’s going to put a lot of pressure on Namikawa to control the fumbled receives.”

“It looks like they’re serving first,” Shimizu says quietly.

Asahi joins the cheers as the teams take the court, and when the first whistle is blown and Number One makes the serve, he sees why Keishin has been looking a little ragged.

“...this is so stressful,” he whispers under the cover of the raucous chants as Karasuno levels the score. The receives have been going all over the place, the spikes either plough through or ricochet off, and the rallies have been fast and gruelling and it’s only the first few points of the _first set_.

“Man, I kinda want to be down there, but at the same time I really, really, don’t,” Tanaka agrees.

The first set goes to Aoba Johsai, the second to Karasuno. Midway through the third, Aheno is subbed out for a second-year when his finger starts swelling, and the blockers have some difficulty containing Seijoh’s wing spikers five and six.

Keishin switches up the rotation after losing the third set, and when Seijoh’s number three rolls an ankle Karasuno is quick to capitalise on the relative inexperience of the second-year sent to replace him.

“Let’s go, Karasuno!” Tanaka howls as Karasuno reaches twenty points first, Seijoh close behind on eighteen.

“Make the most of the lead!” Takinoue shouts.

“Keep calm!” Asahi advises.

“Get it nice and high!” Shimada calls down.

Their number six, a first year Asahi’s fairly sure is called Kaminari, specialises in jump floats, and gets Karasuno to twenty-one without difficulty. When he serves next, though, Seijoh gets under it and Toke can’t save Aheno’s ricochet.

“Don’t mind!” Keishin shouts at them.

A service ace from Six ratchets up the pressure, and even though Kaminari spikes a beautiful pipe on the next play, Seijoh levels the score when their setter dumps a shot.

“Come on,” Takinoue groans. “Don’t let up now!”

This time-out the cheer sections really go to war, and when the teams take to the court again Asahi’s pretty sure he’s going to lose his voice.

A clever tip from Karasuno puts them at twenty-two to twenty-one, but Seijoh levels again. Then twenty-two to twenty-three to Seijoh with a straight worthy of Bokuto Koutarou, and Karasuno doesn’t have any time-outs left.

Number One serves, and Toke bumps it nicely to Namikawa. Karasuno swoops in with its best synchronised attack – the cheer section goes wild until the umpire blows for a net touch.

“Come on!” Tanaka bellows, wringing his orange scarf in his hands as Asahi peers through his fingers at the team regrouping for match point.

Number One takes seven of his eight seconds, and tosses up a vicious serve that has Oikawa’s legacy written all over it. Karasuno’s reliance on its libero doesn’t go to waste as Toke gets it up, but it spins over as Seijoh’s chance ball.

“Kill it, kill it!” Takinoue is yelling as Five receives it high for Two. Six comes in from the left through a triple block but Kaminari gets it up again, and the rally goes on and on until – Seijoh’s libero receives on a dive out of back court, Five digs it up from the middle, and Four feints a spike right into the open centre of Karasuno’s court.

The ball hits the ground with a quiet, anticlimactic bounce, and the gym is frozen for a long second before Aoba Johsai realises it’s going to Nationals at last.

Asahi’s in the kitchen, ears still ringing and throat still dry, when the front door opens. The team had their annual Post-Prelims banquet, but for the first time in three years it’s commiseration, instead of celebration. Asahi puts a bottle of beer down on the living room table along with two cigarettes, and reads quietly for a long while on the carpet by the foot of the couch as Keishin smokes silently at the head.

When Asahi runs into Soma a week later, examining turnips at the market next to Sasaki’s hair salon, they spend the obligatory five minutes consoling and reliving Karasuno’s match.

“But we’re still a powerhouse?” Soma asks, and Asahi nods. “Ittetsu-kun was very sure of that.”

“Absolutely,” Asahi agrees. “We’ve been a top-four school for four year; a loss in the finals of the prelims won’t hurt that.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” sighs Soma, finally choosing her turnips. “Everyone’s worked so hard. I hear we’ve been invited for dinner next week?”

Asahi nods, “Is there anything you don’t like to eat?”

“Will you be cooking? Don’t let Ukai-san get away with making you do everything! For a man who manages a store, he’s not a particularly domestic type.”

Canned soup and piles of volleyball notes agree…but Asahi doesn’t mind cleaning, finds it helps sort his thoughts, and it only took Asahi stubbing his toe a few times on something that he’d cleaned and then Keishin had accidently left back out for Keishin to start tidying. Mae might be one for quick and decisive routs, but Asahi takes after Sae’s quiet wars of attrition.

“I don’t mind,” he says instead, smiling. “He’s been generous enough to let me stay.”

“I wish more young men were like you!”

He’s flattered, but if that were the case nothing would ever get done. 

“Well, I hate to impose, but I really can’t stand anything too spicy. It was a pleasure to see you again, Azumane-kun. Thank you in advance for looking after us next week!”

He relays the conversation to Keishin after dinner, who laughs. The loss hasn’t affected him too much, thankfully, and he’s focusing instead on the December training camps the coach from Johzenji still runs. “Am I running you into the ground?”

“Working my fingers to the bone,” he says, smiling at the embroidery he’s working on. “Ouch! Literally,” he adds sheepishly, jabbing himself with the needle again.

“What are you working on?”

He ties a knot. “It’s meant to be a beaded collar in two colours, but we’ll see.”

Suga teases him mercilessly for cooking dinner for their old teacher, but when the evening arrives Asahi’s happy to say the curry smells delicious.

“And you’re sure I wouldn’t be in the way?” Asahi asks again, just in case, and Keishin whips him with a dishcloth.

“If you leave me alone with them I’ll kick you out into the streets, man-bun.”

Asahi darts away, laughing and rubbing the welt, which just prompts Keishin to follow, not noticing Asahi’s weapon of choice is always sudsy dishwater.

“You cheeky little –” Keishin lunges for the sink too, and Asahi squeaks, splashing in reaction and dousing Keishin’s shirt completely.

“I’m sorry!” he yelps, freezing between retreating and helping, and Keishin takes his revenge.

“Too soft, man-bun! Give the enemy no quarter.”

“Mind the curry!” Asahi wails, dashing out of range of more soapy water and retaliating with a whip of a dishcloth, but before Keishin, grinning his wild crow grin, can attack again, the doorbell rings.

“My shirt!” he hisses, lobbing a last handful of suds at Asahi.

“The floor!” Asahi adds, giving it a quick swipe.

“You started it,” Keishin tells him, but since he’s running out of the kitchen for his bedroom Asahi chalks it up as victory.

“I’m sorry, are we too early?” Takeda asks, glancing at Asahi’s shirt as he takes off his shoes.

“Not at all,” Asahi hurries to assure them. “I was just doing some last minute washing up. Keishin-san is –”

“Right here,” Keishin says, coming up behind Asahi. “Hi, Specs; evening, Soma-san. Welcome.”

“Making Azumane-kun do the hard work,” Soma teases. “I don’t know if I should reward you.” She proffers a – it must be a vase, it’s shaped right, but it’s… _hideous_. “Isn’t it lovely? I saw it and thought of your sitting room, Ukai-kun. It’s really too bare.”

Takeda is smiling at Soma, so Asahi has a moment to collect himself – though his hard work is nearly undone when he catches Keishin’s stunned eye.

“It’s…too kind of you, Soma-san. You shouldn’t have.” He takes the vase gingerly, and Asahi spins away to hang up coats, biting his lip ferociously.

“Not at all! Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Please, come in and have a drink,” Keishin says, ushering them through and turning to give Asahi a look that makes Asahi clap his hand over his mouth, nearly crying with laughter as he goes to change his shirt. Returning, he’s just in time to here Soma say, “And make sure you don’t make Azumane-kun dust the vase too!”

Halfway through a nice, surprisingly not-awkward, dinner, Keishin finds a moment to say, voice low and mouth nearly brushing Asahi’s ear, “I will pay you anything you want if you break the vase while dusting,” and they have to play off Asahi’s resulting coughing-to-cover-a-laugh fit as rice going down the wrong way.

“It really is awful,” Keishin sighs the next week, draped across the couch and staring at the fuchsia glaze.

“Why not put it in the cupboard?” Asahi asks, unwilling to move from his favourite armchair even as the evening grows late.

Keishin groans. “Because when I do, they’ll come round exactly then and I’ll have to make excuses.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Nishinoya thinks it’s hilarious,” Asahi offers.

“Strangely, it doesn’t,” Keishin says. “Hey, I’ve been wondering, how did you and Nishinoya become friends? You didn’t go to the same middle school.”

“We actually played together after school when we were kids. Mae used to be a secretary for Nishinoya’s grandfather, before she started writing. It was halfway through middle school, but she brought me with her when Sae was unwell, and when Nishinoya came to see his grandfather he’d play with me.”

“He adopted you, didn’t he?”

He smiles back at Keishin, shrugging. “He found me playing by myself one day, marched up, and demanded if I liked…I can’t even remember what, but I do remember staring at him, frozen like a statue. He just laughed and dragged me off, and then when he realised I was a spiker he that we start practicing if we were going to be team mates in high school.”

Keishin laughs. “I can just see him threatening you with friendship.”

“You know how you meet someone, and somehow it’s just…they have everything you lack, and act as that part of you? Not in a weird way,” he hastens to add. “Just until you can do it yourself. I used to freeze up when asked a direct question, so Nishinoya chose my ice cream until I was fourteen.”

Nishinoya is more than just Karasuno’s guardian: his fearsome confidence is a talisman against the doubt in Asahi’s head.

“Yeah, I get it,” Keishin says, tipping his head back. The shadows lie intimately along the hollow of his throat, and if it wasn’t midnight, Asahi wouldn’t be thinking that, or staring at the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheek. “Shimada is sort of like that. He’s quieter than me or Tattsun, and usually dragged us out of trouble by our ears.”

“Oh? What sort of trouble?”

Keishin laughs. “Digging for blackmail before our next ramen night? Good plan.”

They have fortnightly dinners with Shimada and Takinoue, whenever their schedules line up. Daichi comes down from Sendai twice to join them, and Yamaguchi stops by to see Shimada every once in a while, with Tsukishima occasionally tagging along. Sae invites Keishin and Asahi for dinner too, and though Asahi spends the entire evening suddenly questioning how often he normally looks at Keishin, it’s quietly lovely, and Keishin promises he hadn’t been bored at all.

“Misaki-san’s very interesting,” he says. “I might actually ask about a painting for my mother’s birthday. She’s an excellent artist.”

“Oh, really? Thank you, um, that’s very kind of you to say! Here, take this, I brought an extra scarf. Don’t get sick!”

Asahi steps close to wrap his second scarf around Keishin’s neck without thinking, the movement automatic with how he makes sure to adjust Sae’s shawls if she’s going out into the cold. When he realises what he’s done, though, Asahi blushes bright red and drops his hands immediately, avoiding Keishin’s eyes – is he staring, is he blushing, is he reacting at all like Asahi is, is he _annoyed_ –? “Ah, sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t –”

“Thanks, man-bun,” Keishin says, grabbing his sleeve to tug him along again. “And if Misaki-san wants to thank me, she should give me her curry recipe.”

The worries wash out of him at Keishin’s grin. “Who’s been cooking the curry?” he teases, recovering enough to walk beside him – what if they could hold hands? What if, like this, Asahi could tuck himself against Keishin’s side –?

“I can cook,” Keishin defends, mock-insulted. Asahi can tell the difference, now, as he shakes stupid thoughts from his head.

“That’s news to me,” Ukai-san says from behind them, and they jump.

“Ma!” Keishin protests.

“Is it too much to hope that my only son cook for his parents once in a while?”

“You came over last month,” Keishin points out, and his mother huffs.

“I know perfectly well Azumane-kun was the cook. It was very tasty, Azumane-kun,” Ukai-san adds, smiling at Asahi, “but you really shouldn’t let my son get away with everything. It’s terrible practice; when he marries he’ll want his wife to do everything.”

“He does the dishes more than I do,” Asahi defends, ignoring the squirm in the pit of his stomach at her last words. “And cleans the bathroom. He’s been so generous in allowing me to stay, so I’m glad to help.”

“He’s allergic to some of the bathroom cleaners,” Keishin tells his mother. “I’d think that a mother would congratulate her son for not hospitalising his guest.”

Ukai-san sighs. “Come and see your father soon, he’s getting underfoot. Take him fishing, now your team isn’t training non-stop.”

“Yes, I will,” Keishin says dutifully, ushering Asahi on.

Asahi smiles, “I didn’t know you fished?”

Keishin pulls a face. “I don’t, not properly. Dad has the fancy equipment, though he really on gets away a few times a year. I just sit there with a rod in the water and let him tell me I’m doing it wrong.”

He launches into a story about a fish that got free when he was younger, flopping around in the bank, and Asahi laughs until he cries at Keishin’s dramatic descriptions. The warmth in his chest is something to be treasured as their shoulders bump on the steps up to Keishin’s apartment.

“I’m happy to do some more of the cleaning,” he offers, as Keishin locks up. “I can wear gloves.”

“Absolutely not,” Keishin tells him. “You need your hands, and I’ve seen the rash. As my mother would say, don’t let me get into bad habits. I’ve been taking advantage of you too much anyway.”

Asahi’s cheeks go pink – he’ll blame the lingering cold. They’re still in the entry way, slowly tugging of jackets and shoes and scarves as they talk.

“Then maybe next weekend we can clean the windows?” Asahi asks tentatively. Are you supposed to arrange chore rotations in a friend’s house? “If you handle the chemicals and I polish, we’ll be done in no time.”

Keishin sighs. “Sounds like a plan, I guess.”

A hand at the small of Asahi’s back coaxes him out of the way, and Keishin wanders into the sitting room to turn on the TV.

They get to the windows, but it takes a while. A few days after the dinner with Sae, Asahi wakes to the sound of Keishin’s phone. When the clock shows 05:34 he turns over and closes his eyes again, but an edge in Keishin’s muffled voice pulls Asahi up.

Knocking on Keishin’s door, he calls, “Keishin? Is everything alright?”

A moment later, Keishin pulls open the door in jeans and a shirt. “My grandfather,” he says tightly. “He’s back in hospital. Dad thinks it might have been a stroke this time.”

Asahi’s stomach drops. “Oh – oh _no_! Is – is he alright?”

“So far. But one of his helpers found him on the floor and called the ambulance, and it looks more serious.” He pulls on another jumper and Asahi steps back to let him hurry to the front door, grabbing jacket and shoes.

“Call me if you need anything?” Asahi says, arms wrapped around his middle.

“Shit, the team. The store.” Keishin pauses in the doorway, hair still unruly, but Asahi chivvies him out.

“Let me take care of that, okay?” Should he say something comforting? But he’s bad at that, and he doesn’t know how it would sound, anyway; Asahi doesn’t have any experiences with conditions more serious than Sae’s migraines, which only rarely need a doctor.

Before he can make up his mind, Keishin is nodding and hurrying out the door.

Takeda is quick to reassure Asahi that he and Namikawa will take care of everything at morning training, and then all that’s left is to get dressed and go and see if Sakanoshita needs any help.

“Oh, Azumane-kun?” Keishin’s mother unlocks the side door when Asahi knocks.

“Good morning, Ukai-san. I came to see if you needed any help this morning, after Old Coach Ukai’s hospitalisation?”

She stares at him, and Asahi shrinks under her gaze. Was that not what he was supposed to say?

“Can you stay all day?”

Asahi blinks. “Yes? I just need to call my school.”

“Thank you so much, Azumane-kun!”

With that, he’s whisked inside, given an apron and a crash course on using the register, and left to rearrange some snacks on the counter as Keishin’s mother hurries through the morning duties. Katsuki agrees to let him pick up the day’s work later, and the first rush of morning customers floods in, school kids and commuters preparing for the day.

Customer service, Asahi is swiftly reminded, is not his strong suit, but fortunately most people are regulars and tut in concern.

“Ukai-san?” he calls, taking off the apron when the midmorning rush has calmed. “I just need to get some schoolwork, I’ll be back this afternoon.”

“Azumane-kun,” she sighs, tugging him down to pat his cheek. “Thank you so much. I hope your aunts are very proud of you.”

He goes pink, stumbling and stuttering his way out the door. On his way back from Sendai, Asahi’s bus drops him helpfully in front of a bento stand at lunchtime, and since Keishin hasn’t texted more than, _Still waiting for results_ , Asahi buys two.

Stepping into the hospital, the nurses direct him towards the right waiting room. Keishin’s mid-yawn when he sees Asahi, and the resulting smile-yawn-wave squeezes at Asahi’s heart.

“Whatcha doing here, man-bun?”

“Have you had lunch already?”

“No, and I’m starving,” Keishin groans. “It wasn’t a stroke, but they’re still running tests. He’s stable, at least. Oh, thanks!” He accepts his bento with a blink, grinning. “I appreciate it. How much do I owe you?”

Asahi frowns, hand on one hip. “Not a single yen, and you’d better eat instead of argue.”

Keishin laughs, low and hoarse, and breaks the chopsticks. When his father walks in, Asahi hands over the other bento.

“Thank you very much, Azumane-kun,” Ukai-san says, smiling. “That’s very kind of you. Has Keishin paid you back?”

“Yes, thank you,” Asahi says, bowing. Keishin scoffs through a mouthful of rice, and Asahi nudges his ankle when he sits down next to him. It’s quieter, here, away from the main entrance, and the small TV in the corner is playing some soap opera. There are two other people waiting, but they don’t speak. Asahi’s contemplating buying a magazine or something when the episode finishes and another starts, but a weight against his side makes him pause.

Keishin’s eyes are closed, arms folded loosely across his chest. Despite himself Asahi tenses, especially when Ukai-san glances over.

“You’d think he’d be better at early starts,” he says. “Shake him off, Azumane-kun.”

“No, of course not, it’s fine,” Asahi assures him, even though he’s a little worried about his own heartrate.

When no one’s looking, he sways a little closer and lets Keishin’s head fall properly onto his shoulder. Oh my god oh my god _ohmygoddon’tdisturbhim_!

The soap opera doesn’t become any clearer the next four episodes he watches and his behind has gone a little numb on these hospital chairs, but Asahi doesn’t want to be anywhere else.


	3. Chapter 3

Keishin wakes before Asahi has to rouse him, lifting his head groggily off Asahi’s shoulder while Asahi holds himself very still.

“Wass’as?” he asks, rubbing at one eye.

“No news yet,” his father says. “Just that the old man’s stable and awake. You’d better wipe the drool off your chin before Azumane-kun runs for the hills.”

“Huh?” Keishin glances at Asahi and then back to his father.

“You don’t drool, Keishin-san,” Asahi says quietly, trying not to blush. “But I’d better get back to work.”

“Ah shit, you should’ve shoved me off!”

“It’s fine,” he assures Keishin hastily. “Will you be home later?”

“Yeah,” Keishin groans, twisting his neck. “I’ll buy dinner on the way. Thanks, man-bun.”

“My pleasure,” he says, maybe a little too sincerely, and flees.

Old Coach Ukai is diagnosed with pneumonia and stays in the hospital for a week this time, which according to Keishin is shorter than most but just long enough to make the old man get fidgety.

“Honestly, if I could tie him down into a chair or something,” he sighs, handing Asahi a plate to dry.

Asahi laughs. “If he had a wheelchair I can see him chasing students with a stick, shouting about proper timing.”

Keishin joins in, scrubbing at a teriyaki dish. “How do you expect to hit something with that kind of attitude,” he mimics, shaking a wooden spoon in the air.

“Flat feet means you’ll be beat!”

“Nothing happens without a solid receive!” Keishin’s laughter trails off. “Ah, the stubborn old idiot.”Asahi bumps him gently with a shoulder. It’s normal, right, to stand close to a friend? “He’ll be alright.”

When he’s released Keishin goes to visit while Asahi takes Sae to see the renovations. By mid-November, most of the structural things have been finished, and Sae spends an hour with the architect discussing colour theory, which cheers her up after seeing the ruins of her kitchen. Asahi stays to eat with her, and walks in late as Keishin’s watching one of Kageyama’s matches on TV.

“How’s your grandfather?” Asahi asks, settling next to him.

Keishin tosses the blankets over Asahi too, shrugging. “As stubborn as ever, but he seems okay. Admitted to needing to wear better clothes outside in winter, which is as much of a concession we’ll ever get. Don’t think I ever thanked you properly for helping my mother in the store, Asahi.”

Asahi shakes his head, “You don’t need to.”

Keishin tugs on a lock of Asahi’s hair, knuckles warm against Asahi’s neck. “Well, free curry buns any time you want.” His hand slides down the curve of Asahi’s shoulder when he releases Asahi’s hair, and goosebumps prickle all the way up and down Asahi’s body. Keishin must be cold – see, he’s settling a little closer on the couch. Must be to warm up. 

Daichi asks after Old Coach Ukai; so do Takinoue and Shimada when they next meet up for dinner.

“He’s tough as old boots,” Takinoue says, waving his chopsticks around. “It’ll take a lightning strike to stop him.”

“Maybe that will just power him more,” Shimada laughs. “Like Frankenstein.”

“Frankenstein was the doctor,” Asahi says absently, trying to fish out the last slice of pork hiding in his broth.

Keishin laughs, poking a tongue out at Shimada. “Take that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“Nah,” Keishin says. “Knock him down a peg or two, Mr Know-It-All over there thinks he’s so smart.”

“Compared to you two,” Shimada tuts, “I am. Just who got in the sixties on all our tests?”

“That was school,” complains Takinoue. “Everyone was stupid in school – listen to what I heard some first-years talking about.”

Keishin pulls out a pack of cigarettes as they listen, putting it down on the table as he searches his pockets for a lighter. Asahi quietly picks it up and puts it into his own pocket. Lighter in hand, Keishin looks quizzically at the table and then groans, slumping onto his elbows. “You exist to challenge me, don’t you,” he sighs, and bites on the end of one of his chopsticks instead.

Asahi swallows the swoop of his stomach as that continuous coal smoulders on inside him. “Three a day, right? Lucky number three. Which one of us wore the number?”

Keishin mutters under his breath but doesn’t argue, leaning back to listen to Takinoue. Asahi smiles to himself and looks away, accidentally meeting Shimada’s eye when he does. The other man is watching him, eyes unreadable behind his glasses. Heat prickles up the back of Asahi’s neck; he ducks his head and focuses on his tea as Takinoue finishes the story with a crow of laughter.

The snow start to roll in as December approaches, and almost like clockwork, Asahi’s winter cold hits him hard.

“Are you sure you’re not dying?” Keishin asks, crouching beside Asahi’s futon.

Asahi nods under the covers, sneezing again. “I’ll be fine,” he snuffles. “You shouldn’d ged sick.”

“I usually don’t,” Keishin says, adjusting the cooling pack on Asahi’s forehead. “I’ll see Misaki-san after training today, see if she wants to go to the house.”

A sneeze cuts off Asahi’s reply, and he doesn’t have to strength to protest Keishin going out of his way. The reward is Sae’s ginger chicken broth: Keishin brings it in that night, after Asahi’s showered and feels less like a lobster in a pot.

“Oh, thank you,” Asahi sighs. Sae always makes him this when he’s sick, though it’s usually Mae tending to him.

“You got it?” Keishin asks, handing it over carefully. “She said to call her if you feel worse.”

Asahi shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Sae gets much worse colds than I do, I’d rather not get her sick.”

Keishin looks a little annoyed, and Asahi wants to retreat but isn’t sure he’s seeing things right, or if he has the strength to move. “Doesn’t she look after you when you’re sick?”

“Mae did,” Asahi explains. “And I live by myself now. I’ll be –”

“Fine, yes, you said,” sighs Keishin.

He collects the bowls when Asahi curls up to sleep again, and Asahi’s temperature is a little high but not enough to be worried. So why, then, does he feel like there was a hand on his forehead, on his cheek, brushing back his hair?

Ukai-san comes by a few days later and offers some throat lozenges. Asahi’s moved to working on his designs at the kitchen table, blanket around him and a bin beside him for the tissues.

“…I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to meet her,” he hears Ukai-san say as they step through the front door.

“For god’s sake, ma, drop it? We’re home! I don’t have time to go and meet dad’s fishing buddy’s daughter.”

“Welcome back,” Asahi croaks.

“You have plenty of time,” his mother retorts. “You’re not going to Nationals this year, so – oh, dear, Azumane-kun, you don’t look well!”

“Rub that in, why don’t you,” Keishin mutters, going to the kettle. “How’re you feeling, Asahi? I’ve been looking after him, ma.”

“Better, thank you,” he says, trying to tidy the piles of work on the table. “He has been, Ukai-san. I’m fine. Sorry about the mess.”

Keishin waves off the apology, grabbing Asahi’s faded mug off the counter. “You need a new mug, man-bun.”

“Technically, they’re all yours,” Asahi points out. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, I can go to the study –”

“No need,” Keishin says, thumping a mug down for his mother. “We were just discussing the reasons I’m not going to a marriage meeting.”

“It’s not a marriage meeting, don’t be so dramatic,” his mother sighs. “It’s just getting to know a nice girl who plays soccer and might have some things in common with you. Azumane-kun, what do you think? He’s nearly thirty, after all!”

Asahi freezes like a mouse in front of cat. “I – ah – I don’t – um –”

“Don’t pressure Asahi,” Keishin defends, pouring tea. “He’s too nice to fight back.”

“All the more reason to listen to him,” his mother retorts.

“I listen to Asahi plenty. Do you want some cake? I’m giving you the last slice because I’m your loving son.”

“A loving son would get married and give his poor mother grandchildren,” she tuts.

“Not this again,” Keishin sighs. Asahi wants to crawl into his blanket and _die_. How would Ukai-san, who’s always been so kind to him, react if she knew Asahi has kissed her son – dreams even now of doing it again? “Look, you’re making Asahi uncomfortable, sticking him into a Ukai brawl.”

“If only you’d care about Ai-chan’s feelings the same way you do about Azumane-kun’s,” sniffs Ukai-san.

“I don’t even know the woman!” Keishin throws his hands into the air. “Oh, look at the time. Doesn’t you need to go to the market?”

His mother glances at the clock and gathers her things. “Don’t think this is a retreat,” she says. “Here, Azumane-kun. Some lozenges, for your throat.”

“Thank you,” Asahi croaks, emerging a little from his blanket cocoon.

“Sorry about that,” Keishin sighs, returning from escorting his mother out.

“Are you alright?”

“Me? Yeah, of course. Nothing I don’t hear every other week.”

Asahi ducks his head, and Keishin flicks his forehead. “Nope, this isn’t your fault and has nothing to do with you, man-bun. Don’t even think about asking if you should go. Clear?”

“…Yes,” Asahi admits, smiling shyly into his tea. “If you’re sure.”

“Very.”

Keishin comes home the next day with a new mug, white with a black deer on one side, all long legs and big startled eyes, ears pricked above its head. “This is yours,” he says proudly, handing it to Asahi. “There was a mug special.”

“Oh, thank you! You didn’t have to, what’s it for? It’s very pretty, thank you. Are you sure?”

“Yep,” Keishin grins. “Two peas in a pod.”

Asahi blushes, unsure if that was a compliment or a gentle ribbing. The deer is very cute, though, and the mug is just the right size for his hand.

As December moves slowly on, the renovations start finishing up. The design school buckles down to finish the last of the assignments before the end of term, and Asahi’s just glad he had his cold earlier in the month. On the other hand…the more work he has to do, the longer he can stay with Keishin. The red circle marking his return to Tokyo is looking more menacing by the day. Every time Keishin laughs with him and tugs his hair, every time he steps out of the bathroom in just a towel, every time _Asahi_ steps out in a towel (is Keishin looking? He just wants to know, wants a sign, he doesn’t mean for it to be _weird_ –), every time they sit and laugh in front of the TV eating together…makes it harder to think about going back to his empty apartment in Tokyo.

But time marches on. The sun rises and sets, and the renovations are complete, negating any reason to stay to help Sae who moves back in swiftly and neatly.

Asahi starts packing. The last assessment is handed in; Katsuki is pleased with him and promises a reference if he needs it, and Asahi leaves the campus for the last time on the twentieth of December feeling dulled, instead of free. Emi is delighted at the prospect of having him back, as is Suga, but Asahi stares at his phone, suitcases packed and tomorrow’s clothes sitting neatly on top, and wants to stay forever.

Keishin knocks on the doorframe, poking his head in. “Why the long face, man-bun? You’re not gone yet. Come and have a drink, we’ll order in some dinner.”

“Thank you,” Asahi says, curling up in the chair he’s come to think of as his and taking the offered beer. “And thank you so much for everything.”

“I think it should be me thanking you,” Keishin says, toasting him.

“Why? You’re the one who let me stay for three months without paying rent –”

“And you’re the one who cooked most, and who looked after the store,” Keishin argues. “Trust me, Asahi, you won’t win this. You might be the ace, but I’m the coach.”

Asahi laughs in defeat. “Well, thank you. And you’re welcome.”

They can’t watch volleyball without getting too invested, so Keishin puts on some old drama in the background as they talk.

“Next year we’ll be divided by speciality,” Asahi explains. “Things like design, fashion history and fashion theory.”

“What’re you thinking?”

“Design, I’m fairly sure,” Asahi says. “What starting line are you going to use in the March tournament?”

He listens to Keishin’s rough voice weigh the pros and cons of two of the more volatile second-years, trying to soak up as much as he can late into the night. The yawns he has to stifle the next day at the train station are more than worth it. Sae booked him a ticket on the shinkansen, and this way he doesn’t have to worry about waking early, or carting his bags to the bus stop again.

Keishin stands beside him, hands in his pockets. “Got everything?” he asks, as the departure time draws closer.

“I think so,” Asahi nods, making sure his portfolio is secure under his arm. “Keishin, I –”

Keishin hip-checks him. “I know, Asahi. But believe me, it was my pleasure. I don’t know how I’m going to survive without that curry.”

Asahi laughs, anticipation and disappointment and fondness coalescing in his stomach. “The secret is lots of soy sauce.”

His train pulls in – no, go away, electrical fault or hurricane or something! – right on time. The small crowd bustles around them, but neither move immediately. Would it be too weird to hug Keishin? It would, wouldn’t it. A handshake? Maybe? Is that all?

“Asahi?”

He snaps back to the present, tearing his eyes away from his suitcase. “Yes?”

“Shall we load the bags?”

He flushes and nods. They have time, another minute, maybe. Enough for a goodbye, at least.

“Have a good journey, man-bun. And enjoy the New Year and your birthday, yeah? Don’t let Sugawara give you too bad a hang-over.”

Asahi laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. The conductors start calling, ushering the last passengers on. “Thank you for everything,” he blurts out, and lunges forward to catch Keishin in a quick hug before he can second- and triple-guess himself.

Keishin hugs him back, swift but strong. “Look after yourself, Asahi.” He steps back – and lifts a hand to tuck Asahi’s hair behind his ear, fingertips cool against Asahi’s cheek.

The doors close between them, and the train whispers off.

Asahi stands blushing and happy and sad and jumbled among his bags until someone sneezes, and he jolts back to himself, tucking his heart safe and sound back in his ribcage from where it tried to escape.

* * *

A week into February, Suga calls Asahi to nag about him sulking and daydreaming and working too hard for too long, and Asahi surrenders, agreeing to a few volleyball matches with their old training camp friends. It’s just because he’s missed volleyball, not because Suga was right. Mostly.

“Evening, Kuroo-san,” he says as he approaches the gym, and Kuroo prevents the door from closing behind him.

“Hello, Azumane-san. How was Miyagi?”

“Good,” he says, stepping inside. “My aunts’ renovations were even completed on time.”

Kuroo whistles, waving to Akaashi and Suga. “What sorcery is that?”

Asahi laughs, dropping his bag on the bench and beginning to stretch. “That’s what Daichi said.”

Kuroo’s about to reply when his phone goes off. He digs it out of his bag, and Asahi gets a glimpse of the contact before Kuroo excuses himself and retreats to a far corner.

Suga raises his eyebrow at Asahi, who mouths _Tsukishima_ , and the second eyebrow joins the first. Konoha and Sarukui arrive, followed by two Shinzen players Asahi always forgets the names of, and then an Ubugawa spiker. Bokuto’s down south for a game and Kai is out of town for his landscaping apprenticeship.

“Is there anyone else we’re waiting for?” Asahi asks Suga, who shakes his head.

“Let me ref today,” Konoha says, pointing at the tape strapped around his ankle. “The stairs didn’t agree with me.” He catches the whistle Sarukui tosses to him. “Okay, janken for the first three-on-threes, and if you ain’t got a setter, suck it up, boys. Kuroo! Get your ass back here!”

“Stop trying to talk rough,” sighs Akaashi as Kuroo jogs over. “You’re never going to sound like Miya.”

Akaashi gets the finger for that as he, Sarukui and the Ubugawa spiker face off against Kuroo and the two Shinzen players.

Asahi and Suga sit with their battered scoring easel between them as Konoha flips a coin and whistles for the first serve.

“It’s a shame Karasuno didn’t get through to Nationals again,” Suga says as he marks the first point for the left. “But Seijoh had an incredible run.”

Asahi nods. “We’re still a powerhouse, but I think most people weren’t surprised. Losing Kageyama and Hinata was a blow.”

“The others are going to have to pull up their socks!” Suga chirps, adding a point for the right.

“You talk a lot like a teacher now, do you know that? You and Takeda-sensei can swap tips the next time you’re down.”

“Oh!” Suga jolts beside him, and Asahi startles, looking away from one of Kuroo’s kill blocks.

“What?”

“I don’t know if you’re heard! You might have, in which case, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

Asahi stares. “What?”

“About Ukai-san? Oh, you don’t know? I heard it from Takeda-san. He emailed me some practice forms the other day and…” he looks gleeful. “Ukai-san finally got a girlfriend!”

The bottle in Asahi’s hand thumps solidly to the floorboards. “…What?”

“Yeah! Can’t believe it took this long. I wonder what she’s like? It seems pretty sudden, but they seem to get along. Hopefully she likes volleyball, right?”

It’s not possible for cicadas to be calling in this season, but a high whine echoes in Asahi’s ears. “Oh. Wow.”

Suga chatters on but Asahi can’t hear anything, mechanically adding a point for the left.

“Hope they – get along.” Suga’s pause must mean he’s waiting for a response. “Oh, is that my phone?”

“I didn’t hear anything. Hey, are you okay? You’ve gone pretty pale. Did you get another cold or something?”

“I’m fine.”

He is, he has to be. He was never promised anything, and he can’t make his friends worry. They never ever _mentioned_ the possibility. He’s lucky enough to just be a friend. It’s fine. He has no right to feel like this, so he’d better get on that court and prove that he’s the ace because if there’s a wall in his way, he has to pick himself up and get over it.

Everything is fine.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Suga asks as they walk out into the carpark. “Your spikes were killer, but make sure you stretch out your shoulder.”

“I’m fine.”

Except, when his front door closes behind him, he doesn’t seem to be that fine, after all.

*

He picks Nishinoya up at the airport the next week, helping with the bags as Nishinoya talks almost without pausing for breath about his adventure. Halfway through, though, he stops.

“Are you okay, Asahi?”

“Of course! It’s so good to have you back. Tell me about the shark?”

*

He video-calls Daichi the next month as usual, swapping stories about their studies. Halfway through talking about his boot camp, Daichi trails off.

“Are you okay, Asahi?”

Asahi refocuses on the screen, forcing a smile. “Of course! Sorry, I was thinking about an assignment. How was the firearms test?”

*

Miho pats his hand the next time they’re out for dinner. “Hey, are you okay?”

Asahi looks up from his drink and pulls on a smile. “Of course! Sorry, I’ve been trying to think of a way to avoid the zip catching on the brocade. How have you been doing?”

*

Sae and Mae ask once each, when he’s home in March. He gives them the outline, worn down to the bone after actually meeting Takahashi Akane and coming face to face with her nasal laugh, her shrewd eyes and the way she hung off Keishin’s arm, and they pack up for a week and leave Miyagi for a quiet seaside down they used to go to when he was younger. Keishin hadn’t even met his eyes properly, when he’d introduced Takahashi to Daichi, Suga, Nishinoya and Asahi, hadn’t stepped close and talked to him in that quieter, rasping tone he used to use when it was just the two of them. He’d hardly said a word to him.

Being away helps, but it shouldn’t, because he’s fine.

*

Nishinoya leaves again in July, and though he looks Asahi in the eyes for a long time before dragging him into a hug, all he says is,

“Next time, come with me.”

Asahi looks up at the departures board, every name exotic and out-of-reach. “Yeah. Maybe next time.”

*

“You are freaking me out,” Emi says. “This!”

Asahi looks up from his sketch pad after connecting the curve of a neckline. “My face?”

“For the last five months it’s been a mannequin’s face!”

“That’s not true. We all cried when Hinata left for Brazil.”

Emi growls at him. “Don’t give me that! What’s wrong, Asahi, really?”

“I’m fine, Emi,” he says. Has been saying. He smiles, and turns back to his project. Everything is fine, because he was never promised anything at all. He should know better than to hope. Guys like him don’t get boyfriends. If Keishin is happy, then it’s fine. He seemed to be, in March.

Asahi tries not to think about her much. Not only for his sake, but for Keishin’s, because –

Well. Her smile was too…sharp. The fact that Takinoue and Shimada seemed to agree, the three of them tucked quietly into their usual ramen booth without their fourth, has nothing to do with anything. It’s not like he isn’t biased, anyway. Asahi is in no position to dictate other people’s love lives when he’s too much of a coward to do anything about the absence of his.

“I’m fine, Emi,” he says again, a little more forcefully. “I’m just looking forward to going home for our Olympic party, so I have to get this done before next month. I only get three days off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emi sighs, scrutinising his face. “You know an Olympian, we know. But…you’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if you needed help?”

He twirls his pencil. “Of course I would, and knowing that you’d be there gives me courage. But…” he shrugs, smiling. There’s nothing she can do. “I’m fine.”

Her frown doesn’t fade, but Emi doesn’t push further. Suga tries to, when they meet up the next week to plan their trip home for Kageyama’s Olympics debut, but by now Asahi can deflect him.

“I’m fine, Suga! Honestly, I’m more worried about you, have you seen the shadows under your eyes? I thought teaching elementary kids meant you didn’t have to yell at idiots.”

“Everyone’s an idiot sometimes,” Suga sighs heavily. “Daichi told me I looked like a ghost, which means he’s officially lost chocolate privileges for the foreseeable future. Still, I just need to submit one more lesson plan and then I’m cruising until after the watch party! I can’t believe our little Kageyama Tobio is a pinch sever in the Olympics, the actual Olympics!”

Asahi laughs. “I can.”

“I can too, but that’s not the point,” Suga huffs, elbowing him. “My kohai is going to represent Japan! I wonder if they’re interview us? Or even Coach?”

“We’re not that interesting. When he’s the starting setter they might.”

“That would be fun! Oh, speaking of Ukai-san,” Suga turns to Asahi, “I wonder if I’ve heard before you again.”

Ice fills his veins. After the last time Suga said that, Asahi doesn’t think he can take whatever comes out of his mouth next –

“He got dumped!”

This time, it feels like the ocean roaring in his ears. “ _What_?”

“Yeah,” Suga nods. “I heard it from Takeda again. Apparently she was a gold-digger. I have to say, I didn’t like her much when we went home in March, but I never thought she’d dump him in his own shop in front of their parents and run off with a older white-collar with a big wallet!”

Asahi is a terrible person for feeling so relieved, but it’s like he’s been caught by the tide – breathless, disbelieving, unsure of which way is up. “Oh. Oh, wow. That’s – I hope he wasn’t too hurt! That’s a horrible thing to do!”

Five months of determinedly not feeling, and now this. He’s terrible, truly, but _thank god_ –

“Well, I hope not. Takeda-san didn’t say much, but I got the impression…this sounds bad, but I think a lot of people are happy about it. Ah, listen to me, gossiping about our ex-coach!”

Apparently they’re all terrible people.

Asahi controls his face as best he can. “She didn’t seem to like volleyball,” is all he offers. “Which bus do you want to get?”

He feels like he’s walking on air as he heads to his own apartment, but then five minutes later Asahi realises what a horrible friend he’s being, and his mood crashes again. But if Keishin is no longer with her, then that means…

_Nothing_. It means nothing, except that he’s free of someone who wanted to use him and never valued him as they should.

“Get a grip,” Asahi berates himself, and calls Nishinoya.

“Hi Asahi!”

The connection’s bad, and Nishinoya’s frozen every so often, but hearing his voice is enough to make Asahi smile.

“Hey, Nishinoya. How’s everything going?”

“Great!” The grin covers most of the screen as Nishinoya rambles on about backpacking across Thailand, and Asahi keeps half his attention on him as he jots down some ideas on his next assignment.

“So what’s up with you?” Nishinoya finishes, propped on his elbows on the top of a bunkbed so rickety Asahi’s afraid it’ll collapse if Nishinoya sneezes.

“Nothing much,” Asahi says, catching Nishinoya up on Emi’s various shenanigans and the Nekoma alumni’s latest achievements.

“And?” Nishinoya asks, crunching on something.

“And what?”

“And what else? I know you’re not telling me something.”

Nishinoya Yuu is terrifying.

“Uh…” And Asahi’s just given himself away. “Well, you probably heard from Suga…”

“What, about his class? I spoke to him last month.”

“No, about Ukai-san.”

“Old or young?”

“Young.”

“What about him?”

Asahi shifts on his desk chair to buy time. “Oh, just, Suga mentioned he’d broken up with his girlfriend.”

“Oh yeah, Ryuu told me! I can’t believe Coach would get taken in by some gold-digger! And she complained about volleyball, too, which is crazy! Like, what did she think would happen?”

“Well, I was just thinking I was a bad friend because…I thought he could better.”

“Nah,” grins Nishinoya, fishing around in a box of crackers. “Isn’t that what friends are for? To help people do their best? Like, I think it’s kinda weird you and Coach are friends, but I definitely didn’t like her when I came back in March, and she was rude to Kiyoko-san once so obviously me and Ryuu swore we’d never forgive her. Coach shouldn’t settle for someone who makes everyone unhappy.”

On one hand, the relief that Nishinoya thinks the same is a balm to his conscience, but on the other…

“So…you think friends’ opinions would be important?”

Nishinoya crunches on. “Yeah, I gueff. Itsh no’ really something I fink abou’ but if like,” he swallows. “If I dated someone and you and Suga and Ryuu didn’t like her, I’d maybe start to wonder why.”

Completely hypothetically…a relationship with someone nine years younger who was an ex-team member and a man to boot might not impress a lot of people. Asahi’s glad for any chance to see Nishinoya, but for all that some worries have been eased, others have come to take their place.

But that’s ridiculous. There was never a chance, so even the hypotheticals are pointless.

He meets Suga at the bus station a week later trying not to let on how senselessly nervous he is. At least the journey back home is quiet: Suga falls asleep on the window and drools, so Asahi sends a picture to their group chat. Suga tries to kick him when they arrive, but luckily his foot went to sleep too and he hobbles around after Asahi while Daichi pretends to scold them.

“I can’t believe Kageyama’s playing in the Olympics!” Yamaguchi says that evening when the original team gets together for dinner. At least Asahi doesn’t have to be nervous here, among family. “Like, the Olympics! The _Olympics_!”

“Yes, you said that,” Tsukishima says dryly, glancing down at his phone when it chirps. Asahi isn’t nosy, but Suga’s near enough to glance casually at the screen. When he mouths _Kuroo_ with a quirk of an eyebrow they grin at each other.

“Little shit,” Tanaka crows fondly. “Always knew he’d go the big leagues.”

“He says he’s only second string.” Daichi helps himself to curry. “But it’s likely he’ll be called on for pinch serving and maybe a double setup if the coach needs to shake it up.”

“Hinata’s probably going crazy,” remarks Ennoshita.

“We had some monsters on the team, that’s for sure,” Suga says proudly.

The party for Japan versus Greece is being hosted at Keishin’s parents’ house. Obviously Asahi was going to come no matter what, but if he’d known that before arriving in Miyagi…he might have flailed a bit more and tried to prepare himself.

“Azumane-kun! It’s good to see you again,” Keishin’s mother says, hugging him firmly when he arrives.

“It’s wonderful to see you too, Ukai-san,” he says, ignoring Suga’s inquisitive look. “Thank you for having us, please excuse the intrusion. How has the store been?”

“Oh, nothing exciting. The same.” She takes their plates and waves them in. “Feel free to grab something to drink, I’m sure you’ll find more crows. The game starts at six, we’re projected it on the rear house wall.”

Suga waits till they’ve walked on through before turning to Asahi, but Tsukishima and his brother round the corner just as he draws breath.

“Tsukishima,” Asahi greets, maybe a little too happy to see them. “And Tsukishima-san.”

“Akiteru, please,” Akiteru says, grinning. “It’ll get confusing. Have you seen Saeko-san?”

Suga points back over his shoulder. “I think I saw her and Tanaka in the kitchen.”

Yamaguchi joins them as Akiteru heads off, and then Shimada and his girlfriend arrive, and the crowd is slowly swept outside to join the neighbours, other alumni, junior teammates, and relatives congregating in the garden. Asahi spots Old Coach Ukai and goes to say hello, and then sees Nishinoya’s grandfather, who greets him like a second grandson. Asahi can’t help but to retreat a little into the corner, though, when he sees Keishin and Takinoue come out of the house loaded down with plates.

It’s so good to see him, but it’s the type of good that hurts in his chest ( _missed you missed you missed you did you miss me_ ), so he forces it down and focuses on Grandpa Noya as flags are handed out and food and drinks distributed.

When Kageyama in his bright red jersey runs on court, they go absolutely _wild_ , and nothing matters but the game.

* * *

Asahi walks out into the garden, warmly tipsy and in the kind of mood where everything looks brushed by silver. The earthy scent of grass and soil meets Asahi’s nose as he inhales, so different to the harsh sooty aromas of Tokyo. Something else tingles at his nose, though, and he follows the scent of tobacco over to the low garden wall where Keishin is sitting, looking out over the view.

“Oh,” Asahi says. “Do you mind…?”

Keishin twists to look at him. He’s just as gilded in silver as the flowers, and the slow burn in Asahi’s blood heats the warm sake in his belly. “Sure,” he says, waving his unoccupied hand at the wall. “Plenty of room.”

Asahi sits next to him, not overly close, but not too far. Thirty centimetres, if he measured. Enough for friends. Enough space for Takahashi to fit between them, her presence made more so by her absence.

“What a game,” Asahi whispers into the night, chasing after his good mood.

Keishin laughs, a soft, rough chuckle. Inside the house there’s still the noise of celebration, but it’s muffled down here at the bottom of the garden by trees and the dip of the land. “Yeah. Shit, it really was. What a mad, marvellous little genius. World,” he throws his arms out, “meet Kageyama.”

Asahi tips his head back with a grin, hair streaming out of his collar in the sudden breeze. “Kageyama, meet the world,” he says, mimicking Keishin as pride and affection squeeze at his chest. He hopes Kageyama Tobio knows that thousands of kilometres away, Karasuno is every inch as proud and amazed and frankly a little terrified of him as they always were.

“That service ace…the straight spike past the blocker…”

“His set from a metre behind the baseline,” Asahi adds.

They laugh, listening as the parties cheering for the Olympic Volleyball Team’s second round victory carry on around them, not only from Keishin’s parents’ house, but from several streets away, and a few houses up, and a few houses over, too, all links back to Karasuno and its love of volleyball.

“Hinata’s probably half-mad with envy and half-crazy with pride,” Asahi says, thinking of their Tiny Giant in Rio too.

“As long as Miya Atsumu’s choking on it,” Keishin smirks, taking another drag.

Asahi grins, remembers watching the setter standing over Karasuno after defeating them in their second Nationals. “To be nineteen and have the world spread out at your feet…”

“Don’t jinx him,” Keishin tuts, but rocks close to nudge Asahi with an elbow.

Oh –

The relief of having Keishin close enough to fall back into their easy to-and-fro surges over Asahi like cool, rich oil, and when it hits the embers in his belly the conflagration sends a rush of heat through him. It’s odd, that he should be sitting here smouldering when the moon is calm and silver and serene above them. The only thing comparable is the steadily-burning cigarette, and before his better judgement can unearth itself Asahi leans forward to take a drag from Keishin’s cigarette, held nonchalantly in the hand closest to him. 

The tension strumming through Keishin transmits itself to Asahi when he straightens, but for once he can’t panic – he has to concentrate on exhaling the smoke and not tearing up at the acrid taste.

“I – didn’t know you smoked,” Keishin says, in a voice not at all like himself.

Slowly, the rush of fire fades under the tranquillity of the moonlit garden, and a blush rises into Asahi’s cheeks. Did he really try and be cool? Him? Honestly. “I don’t,” he admits ruefully, tucking his hair behind his ear. “I can exhale it, but if I actually breathe it in, I choke and cry and it gets embarrassing for everyone.”

Keishin laughs again, but rougher, lower. “Man-bun, I never know what you’ll do next.” He stubs out the cigarette.

The pleasure at still being able to surprise him softens some of the tension in Asahi’s shoulders. “Can’t leave all the fun to Suga. Oh,” and the alcohol still simmering in his veins fritzes the neurons in his head. “Do you remember the time I stopped by the gym last September, and Aheno was trying to convince Hatsuharu that Hinata had once punched Ushiwaka in a street fight?”

“God, and Hatsuharu was yelling how that never happened because his cousin’s neighbour or something went to Shiratorizawa,” Keishin tips his head to the sky, chuckling.

“And Aheno said that everybody knew that Tendo said it happened,” Asahi tries to catch his breath, giggling so much it’s ridiculous, especially since the story is so stupid, “and Hatsuharu said,” they both finish the story, “‘Well, that’s why you play Xbox, because Nintendo sucks!’”

The alcohol makes it far more amusing than it would normally be, but for a minute they sit there shaking with laughter, leaning against each other with the hilarity of the tipsy as they continue sharing old stupid stories.

“…and you couldn’t tell Soma-san how much you hated it,” Asahi wheezes, arms wrapped around his waist, “so you blamed me!”

“I couldn’t help it,” Keishin gasps, swiping at his eyes. “That vase was so fucking ugly.”

“I know,” Asahi manages, “but you didn’t have to say I’d broken it by letting a bird in!”

At the reminder of the farcical tale Keishin had concocted on the spur of the moment, after which a completely bewildered Asahi had found himself confronted by Soma’s long and detailed lecture on why he shouldn’t tempt wild birds into human homes and domesticate them when their stomachs couldn’t handle bread, they almost topple off the wall. 

“The stupidest part, though,” Keishin confesses once he’s got enough breath back, “is Akane found one exactly like it and made me buy it for her!”

Asahi laughs again but it’s much more strained, and that familiar sick feeling is creeping into his stomach. Keishin straightens up with another bout of laughter, but maybe he also feels how the atmosphere has changed and the stilted chuckles trail off into silence. Asahi stares ahead, fingers twisting in his lap as he tries to think of a way to offer sympathy without crossing a line he isn’t even sure exists. 

Before he says anything, Keishin speaks first, a little wryly. “A mess, the whole thing.”

“I’m sorry,” Asahi says, sincere for Keishin’s pain.

“Don’t be,” Keishin shrugs. “It was never going to work out, I don’t know why I even tried.”

“Still,” because Asahi knows too much about shrugging things off, “I’m sorry that you were hurt.”

“Happens,” Keishin shrugs again. “A lesson for next time.”

Asahi’s stomach sinks even further at the idea of a next time, another vapid, shallow woman never satisfied with what she has. How could anyone have Keishin and think him an inferior choice?

“I rushed into it mainly because her mother was a friend of my mother’s, and she kept hinting every damn time she was in the shop. Turns out they also own a shop and wanted to expand by marrying in, but believe me, Akane isn’t cut out to be a storekeeper. Couldn’t understand the hours I spent coaching, so I think the likelihood of her working any kind of shift is less than zero. You know how it is, right, when saying yes is just to stop the hard work of saying no repeatedly? You were there, when ma hassled me.”

Asahi nods. “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” he says quietly, staring at his hands.

“Don’t I?”

Breath stutters out of Asahi’s lungs at the question, asked in that low, rough voice, and he looks up in instinctive confusion. This _thing_ between them has always been left unspoken, and hearing it acknowledged, even implicitly, sends shudders racing over him.

Keishin is watching him carefully, steadily, the planes of his handsome face highlighted by the moon. Asahi feels something inside him react to that look, heart kicking into another rhythm, lips parting as his lungs draw in air like he wants to taste those two weighted words. He isn’t Kageyama, insanely talented, incredibly driven, with the world at his feet and still more to reach for. He’s just Asahi, shy and careful, constantly unsure of others.

He exhales to ask, to speak, he isn’t sure, but Keishin’s eyes drop to his parted lips – and suddenly air isn’t the only thing on his tongue.

The kiss is blisteringly hot and scorches every word off his mind like a letter thrown into fire. A moan quavers in the air, but which of them voiced it Asahi has no idea, too caught up in the overwhelming sensation of Keishin’s mouth. Fingers are in his hair, angling the kiss and curling just tight enough to send pinpricks of pleasure shivering over his skin; Asahi draws in a sharp breath through his nose and sweeps his tongue back over Keishin’s, dipping into the hot, slightly bitter mouth against his.

Keishin hisses and changes the angle again, biting Asahi’s lip and then soothing it with a swipe of his tongue. Asahi changes his grip on Keishin’s shoulders as that clever mouth descends on his again.

It’s incredible and devastating and wonderful; he’s tipsy enough to be bold, to chase Keishin’s tongue and lips and teeth, but not drunk enough to forget it in the morning. Another choked-off groan disturbs what little air there is between them, full of harsh breaths, the shift of clothes and the sound of kisses ending and beginning, of something ending and begi –

“Keishin? Yo man, you out here?”

Takinoue’s voice pierces the air and shatters the moonlit cocoon they’d wrapped themselves in. Keishin yanks himself away like Asahi’s suddenly caught fire, nearly falling off the wall in his haste to put some distance between them.

“Fuck!” he curses, short and vicious as he scrubs a hand through his hair.

Asahi leans back, lips burning, heart plummeting towards the unforgiving stone beneath him. What’s wrong, why is Keishin so upset?

“Yeah, I’m here!” Keishin shouts, turning to look back at the house where Takinoue’s silhouetted against the porch light. “I just needed a smoke!”

“Ah, cool! Sorry, dude, just wanted to make sure you weren’t moping!”

Oh. Oh, _no_.

Asahi’s hand flies up to his mouth, chest constricting as he hunches in on himself. A _rebound_? Of course. He should never have put himself forward like this, _he_ _knows better_.

“Thank you for hosting,” he manages to say, glad in the part of his mind not clouding over that his phone and wallet in his pocket were all he brought. He bows and hops off the wall to hurry down the small pedestrian way behind the Ukai plot leading towards the street.

“Asahi!” he hears whisper-shouted after him, but Keishin won’t want to wake the neighbours, or let Takinoue know he wasn’t alone in the garden. He hears footsteps and the scrunch of hands on stone, but Asahi quickens his pace, vision blurring, and breaks into a run once he hits the street.

He can’t hear anything but the dull roar in his ears, can’t think, can barely even feel past the chill settling in chest despite the balmy summer night. Idiot, idiot, _idiot_!

How much time passes, he doesn’t know. When he reaches his aunts’ front door it takes Asahi a moment to even recognise it, and it takes two tries to insert the key into the lock. Stumbling inside, he trips over a stray umbrella trying to close the door.

“Asahi?” Mae appears at the other end of the corridor, glasses askew on her nose. “If you’re going to be out late, at least come home quietly.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, catching himself against the wall.

“Are you drunk?” Mae whispers harshly, trotting towards him, tying her robe properly. “Asahi, you are of age but at least be respectful of – Oh. Oh, dear.”

Mae was never the hugger in the family; too brisk, too busy. But she bundles him into her arms now, “Oh, dear. This is why men are useless wastrels.”

Asahi hiccups on a sob. “H-he’s not.”

Mae sighs, holding him tighter. “It’s worse that way.”

She puts him to bed with some water and painkillers, tucking him in like she hasn’t done since he was nine and Sae was with a cousin, the two of them left alone for a week. “It’ll look better in the morning,” she whispers, closing the door behind her.

It does, but mainly because the hurt has dulled in Asahi’s chest, resignation laying over him like a lead-lined cloak. The sun is bright, the birds are signing shrilly. It was only a kiss, after all. The see-saw of emotion, from hurt at hearing Keishin had a girlfriend, to relief when they broke up, to this…it makes him a little sick, so perhaps the numbness is a blessing in disguise.

“Asa-chan,” Sae says, gliding over to him when he walks into the kitchen and drawing him down into her lavender-scented embrace. “Don’t be despondent, dearest. If he cannot value you, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Thank you,” he says, mustering a smile. The encounter feels a little dreamlike, now, saturated in monochromatic moonlight. It hardly feels real, and he’d had enough to drink that sensation is again what stands out the most. The companionable cheer of their shared stories, the pride for Kageyama, the kiss and all its burning brilliance – and a cigarette – and the sudden ache of realising he’d pushed too far again, wanting when he should have known better.

But now a little flame of anger ignites. Why did Keishin kiss him in the first place, if he was still hung up on Takahashi? He was tipsy too; is that the pattern of their friendship? Companionability and the occasional alcohol-fuelled mistake they have to pretend never happened?

_Sae’s right. I do deserve better._

It feels like the sun has come out, even if the sky might still be a little cloudy.

“I think…I’d like to put a frame around last night, and put it away,” Asahi says, looking up at his aunts. “Put it behind glass and leave it there.”

Mae purses her lips. She’s always supported her sister’s art but has never managed to draw more than stick figures. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to talk it out?”

“I’m sure.” Carrying the plates to the sink after breakfast, he adds, “I’ll catch the bus back to Tokyo this afternoon.”

“So soon?” Sae asks.

Asahi nods. “Now everyone’s on summer holiday, the studios will be empty, so I’d like to try and get some more portfolio work done for Asui-san. She was good enough to take me on for the winter placement, I don’t want her to regret it.”

“You’re not running away?” Mae asks, eyes sharp.

Asahi closes his lips against anything bitter rising in his throat. “A tactical regrouping.”

She clicks her tongue, but when she fetches a brush and begins combing his hair Asahi knows he’s forgiven.

He messages the others when he’s at the bus stop, apologising for the lack of warning and citing his upcoming placement as the reason. The group chat with their original team has been pinging all morning, and Asahi reads with the kind of interest meant to keep his mind off other things.

**AsahiAce** : Im so sorry, guys, I have to head back to Tokyo today L I just got an email from the company im doing my winter placement with and they need an updated portfolio. Ill be watching every game, but ill miss you guys! Hopefully see you again soon! Enjoy your summer holidays for me since I wont get much time off

**DaichiS** : It’s a shame we won’t see you more, but good luck! We’ll see you at NYE if not before.

**SugaSet** : Party pooper!

**LightningQuick** : NOOOOO ASAHI-SAN! WERE WERE U?

**Tsukishima.K** : RIP Grammar. We stand today and mourn your loss.

**YJumpFloat** : Don’t mind him, he’s grumpy the gyoza are finished.

**Tsukishima.K** : Shut up, Yamaguchi.

**LightningQuick** : I MISS FOOD FROM HOME SEND PIC PLS!

**YJumpFloat** : [image attached]

**LightningQuick** : THNK UUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

**SugaSet** : HINATA IT IS MIDNIGHT IN RIO GO TO SLEEP

**LightningQuick** : BUT U GUYS SAW KAGEYAMAS MATCH RIGHT?????? ILL BEAT U NEXT TIME KAGEYAMA!!!!!!! i think i msgd but lololol had some beer n dont remember nything!!!!!!!

**WhoareRyuu** : Yeah BOI get em u beast hinataaaa!!!!!

**SugaSet** : HINATA! U R UNDERAGE

**LightningQuick** : BUT ITS OLYMPICS SUGA!!!!!!!

**DaichiS** : Rio’s drinking age is lower than Japan’s. As long as you were safe and had some water, I hope you had a good time. You did message us, but we definitely all saw the game! It was brilliant, Kageyama, you were amazing! We’re so proud!

**SugaSet** : YES THAT, YOU LITTLE MONSTER, WELL DONE!!!

**WhoareRyuu** : MAGNIFICENT BASTARD!!

**Shimizu** : Well done, Kageyama, you played incredibly.

**YachiYAY** : YOU WERE AMAZING, TOBIO-KUN! We miss you! Keep up the good work! Don’t die!

**enNOshita** : He’s probably asleep. But yes, we all had a watch-party at Coach’s parents’ house. Everyone was there, even the alumni, and Old Coach Ukai.

**ROLLINGTHUNDER** : AW YEAH KARASUNO WATCHPARTY!! MISS ALL YOU DUDES AND LOVELY KIYOKO-SAN AND ADORABLE YACCHAN! NICE ONE TOBIO!

As much as Asahi would love to spend four hours thinking about nothing but his team, he gets carsick if he reads on long journeys. So as the bus pulls away he takes a last look at Nishinoya’s photo of him with a Japanese flag tied cape-like around his neck before signing off. 

_Don’t think about it,_ he tells himself. _Think about your design. It’s behind glass, now, in its frame. You don’t have time for a boyfriend, you’re only a year away from graduating. You need a good portfolio and a job after graduation. That’s all_.

When Asahi at last unlocks his front door, he flings his bag into his room and makes a pot of tea before turning his phone back on. A multitude of chat messages pop up, a few school emails, a text from Emi, but nothing else. Well, he wasn’t expecting anything and wouldn’t know what to do if he got it, so. Least said, soonest mended.

The mug closest to his hand is the deer one Keishin gave to him.

Asahi puts it very carefully back in the cupboard. Then his phone rings, startling him badly enough he smacks an elbow into the fridge.

“Owowowowshit!” he hisses, rubbing it. But it’s Sae. “Hello. The bus ride was fine. I got some sleep.”

“I’m glad, dear. Have some chamomile tonight if you find your sleep schedule disturbed.”

He rubs his elbow while Sae tells him about her latest creation, and has just reached for a take-away menu when his aunt says, “But that wasn’t all I wanted to tell you.”

“Oh?”

“An hour after you left, your coach came by.”

The menu flutters to the ground.

“H-he did? What – what for?”

“Ukai-san said it was to return the plate you had taken to his parents’ house.”

“Oh,” is all Asahi can say, clutching his phone in both hands. Did he take a plate? They all did, so he must have.

“He asked to see you, and seemed disheartened to find you had already left.”

Her voice is perfectly even, soft and slightly distracted as always, but it suddenly feels like each phone is the anchor of a tightrope and Asahi is balanced somewhere in the middle. Thank god she isn’t here in person: Mae was the disciplinarian when he was a child, but Sae can see through anything.

“I’m sorry I missed him,” Asahi finds himself saying cautiously.

“I wonder,” says Sae.

Asahi swallows. The silence stretches between them.

“Mae asked him in for tea,” Sae eventually says, “but he excused himself.”

“…I’m sure he’s busy cleaning up last night’s party.” What had he really come for? That Keishin did at all makes something clench in the pit of his stomach. That means something, right?

“I found myself disappointed too,” she says.

Asahi frowns. “That he didn’t stay for tea?”

“He was quite polite about it,” Sae says. “So I find that I expected better from your Ukai Keishin-san.”

A prickle races up Asahi’s back. She definitely knows. “Don’t be too hard on him, Aunt Sae.”

“I wonder,” she says again. “That was all I had to say, my dear. Sleep well, and I wish you success in your studio work.”

Asahi hangs up when she does. Somehow, he’s not hungry anymore.

“I thought you’d gone home,” Emi says, draping herself over his back the next day. Asahi’s sitting in front of his easel, several patterns and dimensions pinned to the board around some grid paper where next season’s pattern is slowly taking shape.

He pats her arm. “I had to come back early to do some work.”

“Bullshit,” she says. “But I won’t push, because you’re wearing your fluffiest lavender cable-knit and you only do that when you’re upset but dealing with it.”

Asahi freezes.

She laughs, moving over to her own cubicle. “Oh, you didn’t know? You’re adorable. If you were wearing your high school jacket I would have dragged you out for a drink and a cry.”

“Oh my god,” Asahi says under his breath. “But weren’t you supposed to stay longer with your family?”

Emi sighs. “My brother’s practicing guitar, my sister is recreating horror films in the living room, and my uncle now has four dogs. I was gonna go mad if I had to stay.”

Her family is loud, warm and boisterous, much like Emi. Asahi grins, trying not to let his spirits fall even lower. He just has to get out of this funk.

“Want to go out with me tonight?” Emi asks. “It won’t be to a club, I know how much you hate those, but there’s this really nice bar a friend told me about nearby.”

Asahi opens his mouth to refuse, but she pulls her best puppy-eyes at him, and the group chat keeps showing him pictures of Hinata in Rio, of Kageyama in the Olympic Village, of Nishinoya in India, all with grins on their faces and exotic worlds spread out behind them.

“Alright,” he sighs. “But I really don’t want to drink, I had too much at our Olympic party last night.”

“Ah, your Olympian,” Emi teases, yanking him out of the door. “Okay, Karasuno ace, I’ll drink, you eat, and we’ll groan about our competitive job field while the white-collar graduates around us collapse from overwork.”

The bar Emi chooses is two floors up in the business district, nearly full but relatively quiet despite that. She waggles her pierced eyebrows at him and Asahi can’t help but smile. The food is excellent and the drinks apparently pretty good; they find themselves returning the next week, and then the week after that when more of their classmates trickle back to the city for the start of term and their looming winter placement.

“Everyone else seems so accomplished going into the September term,” Ayumu sighs. “I did nothing over the holidays, I think I’ve forgotten how to calculate seams.”

“Right,” says Emi, tossing her last skewer down. “Everybody, get your things. We need more beer for this.”

“No,” Asahi groans, trying his hardest to weigh a tonne as Emi attempts to haul him to his feet.

“Asahi,” she says quietly under the cover of the other three gathering their bags, “I promised not to push, but you’re moping. Go out, have fun, find someone interesting, and just enjoy the endorphins for a while, okay? I will call Nishinoya if I have to.”

“Oh, come on,” he sighs. “That’s bringing a cannon to a swordfight.”

“I’m glad you realise that,” she smiles beatifically.

The first bar is loud and brightly-lit, the second has cheap sake bombs, and the third a live band. Asahi’s at least managed not to get drunk, but he is tipsy, and when they spill out looking for their fourth bar he doesn’t protest. A menu boasts Happy Hour with some of Miho’s favourite cocktails, so they use Asahi as a shield with the three girls and Ayumu following close behind.

When they reach the bar, though, Asahi’s knees nearly give out. Tall, dyed blonde, wicked smirk –

“What can I get you?” he shouts over the music, a distinctly Australian twang to his Japanese.

_Why is this my type?_

Emi’s shove sends him the last step forward and he blushes as he meets the bartender’s eye, jammed up against the counter. “Um, hi! Could we get a jug of beer and four jaeger bombs?”

“There’s five of you, mate!”

“Not for me,” he shouts back, rubbing his neck.

“Come on, Azumane!” Ayumu smacks his shoulder, but Asahi shakes his head.

“Sure thing!” The bartender grins and turns away.

“Don’t be boring!” Miho chirps in his ear.

“Who carried your bag the last time we went out?” Asahi asks, maybe a little pointedly. He’s getting more than a little tired of Tokyo’s insistent attempts to get him plastered.

“Leave him alone,” Emi shouts, giving Asahi a sharp look as she tugs Miho and Sumire to the dance floor.

“Your friends tryin’ to get you drunk?” The bartender puts the drinks down and Asahi hands over their combined money.

“A little,” he says. How do people even pick up people in clubs? He can’t hear a thing, and the chance of guessing wrong for someone like him far outweighs the momentary pleasure.

“Yeah? Bad breakup, or bad exam?”

Asahi’s mouth pulls thin despite himself and the bartender laughs. “More than one way to do that, mate. I’d avoid the bathroom if I were you, but there are dark corners.” He winks, turning to serve some other patrons, and Asahi abruptly needs air.

Forcing his way through the press of people, he’s grateful again for being over six foot and even for how his scowl makes him look like the thug so many people assume he is.

Why must the world assume it knows best? Why should everything be fixed with too much booze and faceless sex? He just wants to go home, he wants clear sky and green hills, he wants tea and an armchair and a book, he wants to be wanted for _himself_ because trying to be someone else didn’t work. He was the ace, he was trusted to serve first and spike last; his kimono was featured in the school’s magazine and Yachi-san bought the suit he’d designed without even waiting for his teacher’s input; he’s allowed to be himself, and even the bustle of Tokyo around him won’t chance that.

Asahi gets the train back to his apartment, texting Emi so she won’t worry, and finishes two aloe drinks from the nearby store as he walks up the street.

His phone rings before he reaches his building and he sighs, expecting Emi to bitch him out.

“I told you, I’m heading home and there’s nothing you can say to stop me.”

“Well, I don’t plan to,” comes a completely unexpected voice, laughing a little awkwardly.

“K-Keishin?” Asahi stammers, rounding the corner of the street to find Keishin standing on the steps leading up to his building.

“Hi, man-bun,” Keishin says, hanging up and sliding his phone back in his pocket.

“I’m so sorry,” Asahi says, brain short-circuiting and mouth moving on autopilot. “I thought a friend called, I didn’t even check the number!”

“It’s fine,” Keishin chuckles, rubbing his nose in a gesture that Asahi recognises as Keishin’s own nervous tell. He’s nervous too? Why? About the – the kiss? Don’tlookathismouthdon’tlookathismouth – “I should be the one apologising, showing up out of nowhere.”

“Is everything alright?” Asahi asks, climbing the steps. At least they can meet the other’s eye, even if it’s only for a few moments at a time. “Is your grandfather okay?”

“That old geezer’s fine, not that he’d say anything,” Keishin grumbles. “I, ah, I had to come down for some business papers for Sakanoshita, and I had a few friends to see, so.” He shifts his weight a little, but if there’s one thing Asahi has admired and envied in Ukai Keishin it’s his self-confidence, his ability to be settled in his own skin. And he’s here, even if he’s making Asahi’s heart do strange things: he’s implied Asahi is a friend he wants to see after making a four-hour journey. “I’m sorry about the time, though. I didn’t realise how late it had gotten.”

“Don’t worry, I was out with some friends and wanted to come home early. It’s perfect, actually.”

They’re both still standing like idiots in front of the apartment complex’s door, and it’s definitely more awkward than it had been last year when they saw each other after that January morning. There’s more between them now.

“Oh, uh, sorry! Would you like to come in?”

Keishin rocks a little on his heels. “I’m the rude guest here. I don’t want to inconvenience you, if you’re back after a long day.”

“No, it’s fine. Have you had something to eat? We can walk by the river?”

“God, some Tokyo okonomiyaki sounds amazing.”

“This way,” Asahi smiles, tucking his keys back in his pocket. There’s no way the elephant would fit in his tiny room.

They get some food from the late-night stalls by the river and wander along the bank. Some of the trees are stubbornly clinging to their leaves; others have begun to shed them. “You’ve started school again?”

Asahi nods. “Winter placement’s coming up in October.”

“Sounds good. Shimada and Tattsun say hi.”

“Oh, that’s nice of them. How are your parents?”

“They’re good. Ma wants to branch out with some of our products, but dad’s dragging his feet. How are your aunts?”

“Good,” Asahi says, wincing inwardly at the parade of goodness. “Mae’s new book is coming out, and Sae’s just finished a new painting.”

“Good to hear,” Keishin nods, throwing away the empty okonomiyaki box.

They walk on, uncomfortable silence now hovering between them. Oh god…it’s never been this bad before.

But why is Keishin here? Asahi weighs the choices as best he can, ignorance against awkwardness, but he’s more himself than he was and for once, he wants to know so he can be himself again. His Karasuno number three keychain is still intact and sits in his pocket, a charm against doubt. Nishinoya would say something.

“Aunt Sae mentioned you’d returned our plate. Thank you, that was kind,” he says, after running through the sentence several times in his head. He hopes it’s not as stilted as it feels.

Keishin’s shoulders tense. “Oh. No problem. I…” he trails off, and Asahi counts four steps before he speaks again. “I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

That Takahashi couldn’t see how much of a good person Keishin is still stuns him. Keishin’s always been brave, and even though Asahi’s heart is nervously twisting itself to pieces in his chest he makes himself smile.

“Yes, I just had to go back to Tokyo to prepare my portfolio. Sorry it was out of the blue. I didn’t even thank your parents.”

It really does feel like an elephant is following them, this massive unspoken thing wedging itself between them. What now? What next?

“We were sorry to have missed you.”

They walk on.

“But that’s the way things go, right?” Keishin shoves his hands into his pockets. “Plans change?”

Asahi’s heart, trembling on the end of a gossamer thread, plummets to splinter on unforgiving ground. So he was just tipsy. Keishin does regret it.

“I guess so,” he says softly, ducking his chin and digging his nails into his palms.

They walk on.

“Doesn’t mean everything has to change,” Keishin says quietly.

“No,” Asahi agrees cautiously, staring at the footpath ahead. “But some things do.”

“Oh.”

They walk on.

“I guess you’re right,” Keishin says, forcing levity into his tone. “It’s like…you aim for Nationals, and find you’ve been edged out by another team on the court.”

Wait, what are they talking about?

“Karasuno’s still a powerhouse, though,” Asahi offers, not wanting Keishin to think any of the alumni blame last year’s team for breaking their streak.

Keishin glances at him. “It all comes down to the last ball.”

Are they still talking about volleyball? Asahi knows the usual way to finish that sentence is to claim the hit for the ace, but for once…he wants the setter to take responsibility.

“And the choice the team makes for that play,” Asahi says, and reaches down into the core of himself where he used to keep match-point serves. Just say it, once, just make it clear. It was never a solo sport. “The ace doesn’t get it unless the setter decides.”

Keishin drags in a breath that would make more sense if he had a cigarette.

“…The spiker still needs to call for it.”

Asahi is silent. He can’t say anything now, not without some indication of what Keishin’s thinking, feeling, a kiss and a rebound and a change in his plans. Does Asahi factor into his plan? Does he have any right to even think that?

“Not if there’s a block in the way,” he says at last. Is there? Does the possibility of Takahashi and her ilk, his mother’s constant suggestions of meeting girls, of grandchildren, cancel out everything? What would their friends say?

Keishin’s slow exhale isn’t conveyed by smoke, but Asahi feels like things are burning away between them just the same.

They walk on.

“How’s Tokyo?”

“Busy. Kuroo-san’s been accepted to a JVA internship.”

“Impressive.”

They walk on.

“How’s the team?”

“Good. Did well in the training camp.”

They reach the enormous pillars of the bridge, sounds of traffic suddenly piercing their bubble as a station looms close.

“I’d better head off and let you get some sleep,” Keishin says, twitching a corner of his mouth into a smile.

Asahi hurts to see it – hurts over all of this. The river flows beside him, calm and uncaring and always changing. He steps close, presses a kiss to Keishin’s cheek, and says, “Goodbye.”

He turns and strides back down the footpath, refusing to look back, and wakes in the morning with heavy eyes and a heavy arm across his chest with his clothes smelling of old club smoke. Pulling himself out carefully from under the weight, Asahi grimaces at the mess on his stomach and creeps around on tiptoes getting dressed.

Enough.

Enough, this is enough. The walk of shame is long and tiring, and he still has class today.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello if you've gotten this far, and thank you! Here's the porn, as promised.

The seasons hardly affect Tokyo’s landscape, and they rely on mostly on the temperature –coats to no coats to back again. He’s walking home after morning class with Emi three weeks later, bundled in layers for an early October cold snap and trying not to think about this time last year, when his phone rings.

“You’re being so dull, Asahi,” she’s sighing, and he’s trying not to lose his mind.

“Please don’t start that again.” Asahi rummages in his many pockets, clicking his tongue. The display when he finds it, though, merits a double-take. “…Shimada-san?”

“A friend?”

“No, yes, a Karasuno alumni,” he says distantly. Why would he be calling Asahi, of all people? They email occasionally, and catch up in person when Asahi’s in Miyagi…

“Well, answer it,” Emi recommends. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Asahi agrees, waving absently as he brings the phone to his ear. “Hello, Azumane speaking.”

“Hi, Asahi-kun, it’s Shimada.”

Asahi frowns at the sidewalk. “Hi, Shimada-san, how are you?”

“Well, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Is something the matter?”

“What? Oh, no! Sorry, this is so out of the blue. Nothing’s wrong at all.”

“I’m glad,” Asahi says, letting his shoulders fall and resuming his walk home. “Not that it’s not good to hear from you! It’s just definitely…a little unexpected.”

“For you and me both,” Shimada sighs. “I wouldn’t do it normally, you understand…and god I hope I’m not wrong.”

He’s on a seesaw. “Are you sure everything’s alright, Shimada-san? Nothing’s the matter with you, or Takinoue-san, or the shop, or…or with Keishin?”

A sigh like static. “Good, I’m not wrong,” Shimada says.

“About what?”

“About you and Keishin.”

Asahi trips over a leaf and rights himself on the wall of his building, blushing furiously. “Wh – what do you mean? Me and K-Keishin? There isn’t a me and Keishin, Shimada-san, are you sure everything’s alright?”

Shimada laughs, and then lets it taper off into another sigh. “And judging by the dejected look he’s been wearing for the past month, he doesn’t think there is, either.”

“Dejected…Shimada-san, what are you talking about?”

Asahi succeeds in getting up the stairs without breaking his neck and shoves his key into his door, phone held against his shoulder.

“I hate interfering, you know. Loathe it. Makes me break out in hives. But there’s only so much I can take, I hope you understand.”

Dropping his keys on the table, Asahi sheds his coat and wanders into the kitchen, a very bad feeling beginning to prickle up his spine. “Um, not really. What would you have to interfere with, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Shimada groans on the other end. “Listen, Asahi…I’m sorry in advance for any awkwardness, and if by a stroke of horrible luck I actually am wrong, I’ll beg forgiveness. I just…you should be happy, for god’s sake. Both of you.”

Icy premonition makes a hole where Asahi’s stomach used to be and he clutches the phone tighter. “What…what do you mean?”

“You know Keishin, Tattsun and I were all in the same year at school? We were all second-string players on the volleyball team, though. We got to play every once in a while, and got a few games in our third year, but not many.”

“Yes,” Asahi agrees warily. “Old Coach Ukai was…intense in his pursuit of excellence.”

“He was an uncompromising, crotchety old bastard,” Shimada says fondly. “But he had a goal and he went for it, building all the tools he’d need. He was driven, determined and passionate.”

“I know. I have met him,” Asahi points out. “I trained under him too.”

“Mmm. Did Keishin ever tell you about his grandmother?”

“Yes…?”

“We only knew her briefly; she died when we were sixteen. But Fuyumi-san was a lovely woman. Very calm, cheerful, and with a quiet sense of humour that never let Old Ukai get the last word.”

Asahi sits down, even more adrift than he was at the beginning. Shimada is calling about Keishin’s grandmother?

“She sounds wonderful,” he says cautiously, thinking back to the photo Keishin had showed him, when they went to make sure his grandfather had some easy meals in the fridge after hospital. He had no trouble recognising Old Coach Ukai, standing next a petite woman in a kimono, smiling brightly at the camera.

“She was. Coach used to train us, then drive an hour to the hospice to see her every day without fail. Fuyumi-san came to see the team play a few times, when she was well. She chased Coach back on court with a parasol one time he got frustrated enough to declare coaching was a stupid waste of time, and she hit him over the head with the same parasol when he nearly forgot their anniversary in favour of training some new servers.”

“I can’t imagine anyone doing that to Old Coach Ukai,” Asahi admits.

Shimada laughs. “I know! It was hilarious. Coach complained about her nagging being a thorn in his side, she said, _that’s how you appreciate a rose_ , and he bought her flowers every week she was in the hospice until she died.”

“Oh. That’s…lovely.”

“Unexpected, right? But he was like that. Honourable, determined, stubborn, grumpy. You know what else was hilarious? Seeing you do the same to Keishin.”

Asahi starts. “What? I didn’t – what are –”

“Granted, it wasn’t a parasol, it was a napkin at Igarashi Ramen, but it worked the same. Asahi…” Shimada’s voice softens. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I also saw him go down to the garden last month, then you go down, and then him come back looking like someone kicked him in the chest with a steel-capped boot. He refused to buy Tattsun drinks for a week after that and didn’t tell him why.”

Asahi sits frozen. _The way he looks at me? Why wasn’t I more careful about the way I looked at him?_

“What did he say, Asahi?” Shimada asks gently. “When he came up to Tokyo?”

“Um,” Asahi says, clearing his throat. “He – he said that plans change, and that you can aim for Nationals and be beaten by another team, even at the last ball.”

Shimada swears to himself under his breath. “Is that all he said?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god…he’s worse than I thought! You can’t make everything about volleyball, right? What happened to just talking normally? Ugh. I’m sorry to be even nosier, but you don’t have anyone in Tokyo, do you?”

“No.”

“Could Keishin…think that you have?”

“…I don’t know?” The phone is probably overheating from how tightly he’s holding it, but he’ll risk a singed ear for this.

“Like he said, maybe plans change.”

“But how could anyone not want him?” Asahi bursts out.

“Well, I don’t,” Shimada says, amused. “But you do. And he wants you. I think he’s just worried that he’s been…beaten by another team, at the last point. He’d never get in your way, Asahi, or hold you back. He might have fallen into the trap of thinking he’s just your coach, but even then he did everything he could to help you spread your wings.”

“But…” Asahi scrubs at his face, scrunching a handful of hair and tugging, mind overheating nearly as much as his phone. “But…”

“Who does the last ball go to, Asahi?”

“The ace,” he says dumbly. “But the setter has to toss.”

“That’s true. Maybe you should let him know that you’re ready and waiting.”

It’s only when the disconnect tone trills in his head does Asahi realise Shimada’s hung up, and he opens his fingers robotically, letting the phone fall into his lap.

What.

What?

_What_ –

It’s Tuesday afternoon. He absolutely cannot rush off to Miyagi now. He absolutely cannot rush off to Miyagi _at all_.

“Oh my god,” Asahi hisses, standing to pace, head in his hands.

_I’ve seen the way he looks at you…_

How? How does Keishin look at him, and why hasn’t Asahi seen it when he’s been hoping to for nearly two years?

_I think he’s just worried that he’s been…beaten by another team, at the last point._

Asahi was the one left behind.

_That dejected look he’s been wearing for the past month._

Worse than the one Asahi sees in the mirror when he’s not concentrating?

_He’d never get in your way._

“Fuck.”

Asahi shakes his hands out, grabs his gym bag, and forces himself out of his apartment five minutes later trying not to overthink himself into knots. He gets the last ticket to the last bus to Miyagi and climbs on just in time, a selfie of him and Nishinoya at the beach on his phone to give him courage.

He busies himself to the point of carsickness excusing himself from classes and letting Emi know he’s away so he can close his eyes and not think of anything except trying not to be sick. It works to the extent that the lady sitting beside him offers him an energy bar, looking worried. Asahi takes it with a wan smile and a word of thanks as the mountains draw closer.

Luckily by the time they pull into the Sendai station the nausea has abated, and Asahi jumps onto the local bus as night falls, hugging his coat close. He cannot _believe_ he’s doing this –

Anticipation and wretched hope tentatively take root inside him under clouds of doubt and anxious fear. Shimada picks up on the third ring.

“Asahi?”

“Do you know where Keishin is?”

Silence for a moment, and then Shimada says,

“He’s been sulking in Shirogane’s bar for the last few weeks. Good luck.”

Asahi stops by a shrine for a brief moment, banking on needing more than a little luck, but even as his feet grow heavy and his stomach churns and his lungs tighten, the bar approaches more quickly than he’s ready for.

An older couple holds the door open for him, a blessed curse, and he has no option but to hurry into the warmth. Nishinoya wouldn’t hesitate, so he can’t either. Casting his glance around, Asahi tells himself he can still run, still turn away –

Then that proud profile catches his eye, and his heart skips a beat in his chest.

No, it’s far too late to run. It’s been too late for Asahi for more than a year.

He takes one breath, two, and sets his shoulders. The last toss goes to where the ace is waiting, and his setter has to trust that he’ll be there.

Keishin startles as Asahi slips into the booth beside him, a chunk of ash falling off his cigarette. Asahi avoids his eye as he nods over to the bartender in answer to the man holding up a pint glass with a questioning look.

“Asahi?” he asks, belatedly moving his cigarette back over the ashtray and exhaling a plume of smoke. He flicks a sharp gaze sideways as Asahi, courage clenched in both hands and heart beating like a war drum, slides even closer on the bench until their thighs are pressed close.

“Keishin,” Asahi replies, just as softly. God, he’s so nervous his palms are sweating and he feels like he might throw up. The last few times they’d been near each other…maybe it was time they started talking, instead of nudging each other and leaving it to looks and silences.

There’s something old and jazz-like on the radio, crackling through the murmurs of the few other patrons. His beer arrives, and he smiles thanks as beside him Keishin pushes his own glass away on its coaster.

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough to drink with you nearby anymore,” Keishin says, just above a murmur. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Asahi’s heart is beating so fast he might just keel over without even a drop of alcohol, but it feels like he’s already had a glass of something warm, something like the air around them in a tumbler, jazz crooning low through his bloodstream. He takes a sip, mainly for show, and faces this final wall.

He drops a hand down under the table to rest it on his own thigh, pinkie just brushing the warm denim pressed against him. “Every time I smell that smoke, I only think of you.”

Keishin’s breath catches and the moment holds, stretches, until, “So? What brings you back up here?”

Asahi smiles down at the table. “An interesting conversation with Shimada-san.”

“Wha – really?”

He can see Keishin staring at him out of the corner of his eye, but Asahi just takes another sip and shifts his fingers where they’re tucked warm between their thighs. “About your grandfather, of all things. About Ukai men, and their stubbornness. Their kindness, and their honour.”

Keishin lifts his cigarette to his lips again with a hand that’s none too steady, and then drops his other hand to his thigh.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Asahi whispers. Under the table, their hands inch closer, little fingers hooking around each other as they lean together, cloaked in the smoky dimness of the quiet bar. “I’m sorry…when you said that plans change, I thought…that you were confirming you’d just been tipsy.” He sucks in a breath like they’re gone ten times up the Shinzen hill, and then exhales slowly, wetting his lips. “I’d gotten so used to telling myself I wouldn’t find anyone in Tokyo that I…was sure I wouldn’t find anyone at all. I thought you were offering closure. I thought…you just wanted to be…friends.”

Keishin’s fingers twine together with his and grip tight, and the jubilant relief that surges through Asahi is _unspeakable_.

“I should have been clearer. I was just – afraid. I didn’t know how far I could push. I thought you regretted it, when you left the garden.”

“I thought you did,” Asahi says. “So close to Takahashi-san.”

“A rebound?” Keishin asks, startled. “You? Other way around, more like.” He sighs. “You’re quite a bit younger than me, you know, and kinder, and more generous than anyone could deserve. I thought you had so much more in Tokyo than anything you could find here. _The ace doesn’t get the toss unless the setter wants to_ …god, Asahi. _Not if there’s a block_. You’ve no idea how much that’s gone round in my head. This is it, okay?” Keishin swallows, fingers tightening convulsively around Asahi’s. “This is me, offering this to you. It shouldn’t be all on the ace, and the only thing standing in the way is if you still want this, nothing else.”

Asahi sags against him, exhale shaking. “Thank you,” he whispers. “This is me, calling for it.”

Keishin takes a slow drag of the last of the cigarette and taps it out on the table’s ashtray. He turns, torso shifting till their shoulders are wedged together and he can lean close – close, but not close enough, clearly waiting for Asahi to choose, to be sure.

Elation rolls through Asahi, smooth and rich and deep like malt whisky. He leans forward to meet Keishin until he pauses a hairsbreadth from Keishin’s mouth, opening his own.

Keishin exhales long and slow. Without a pause Asahi inhales his plume of smoke as Keishin’s thumb brushes over his knuckles.

“Oh...” Keishin whispers near-inaudibly, more a breath than a word, as Asahi exhales the smoke.

The kiss is hungry from the start, years of things unsaid weighing on their tongues until they can press the unspoken words into each other’s mouths. Keishin’s hands come up to frame Asahi’s face, one at his jaw and the other in his hair; Asahi can’t let go of Keishin’s muscled thigh, and instead twists in their cramped little booth to align as much of their bodies as he can as they kiss and kiss and kiss at long last in hazy jazz-filled air.

“Keishin,” he murmurs, when they have to pause for breath. “ _Keishin_.” He ducks his head to hide his tremulous smile against Keishin’s neck.

“Asahi?” A kiss left like a secret behind his ear. “Let’s do this properly this time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

They walk shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching. Their hands brush every other step but only a temptation, a promise, breaths clouding the air in front of them as streetlights turn the world golden. In the distance, a dog barks; a street over, a car drives past. They don’t speak, don’t need to. Keishin steps aside for Asahi when he’s unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, and Asahi walks into the same space he’d spent three months in less than a year ago. Nothing’s changed, except the collection of teas and soups cluttering the cupboard above the microwave, and he smiles as he slips off shoes and jacket, dropping his overnight bag by the door.

Just before he can turn to Keishin again, his phone rings in the pocket of his jacket. Asahi scrunches his nose, glancing at the screen.

It’s just Nishinoya – Asahi can call back tomorrow, Noya will understand.

“Oh my god, Nishinoya’s going to kill me,” Keishin mutters under his breath, hanging his coat up as he stares at Nishinoya’s contact photo, all thousand-watt grin and peace signs.

“He won’t,” Asahi chuckles, leaving the phone where it is. “That would make me…uh, I mean…” This isn’t going as well as he’d hoped; his cheeks are burning and the smooth, smoky atmosphere of earlier is gone as Keishin laughs, smug little smile curling in the corner of his mouth. Asahi’s kissed him there, that smooth patch of skin...

Maybe the mood hasn’t been completely lost, he thinks, as Keishin sways closer, eyes dark and pleased, voice low.

“Make you...sad?”

Asahi curves into the hand on the small of his back, obeying its suggestion and stepping close. He only has a few centimetres on Keishin but it’s enough that he has to dip his chin to kiss, or Keishin has to tip up just a little on the balls of his feet. Asahi’s heart clenches in adoration as Keishin does, rocking up as his other hand slips around the back of Asahi’s neck to pull him down.

This kiss is playful, and being sober makes such a difference. Asahi can’t help smiling as teeth tug at his bottom lip.

“If he killed me, would you miss me?” Keishin teases, dropping back onto his feet and tugging Asahi onwards.

“Very much,” he whispers, managing to hold Keishin’s gaze, ears burning.

“God, how can six one be so damn adorable?” Keishin mutters, yanking him into the bedroom and switching on the light as he kicks the door closed behind him. “What the hell are you doing to me, man-bun?”

“Well, um, at the moment I’m, uh, undressing you,” Asahi offers, biting his lip as he slides his hands under Keishin’s shirt, amazed at his daring.

“A smart-ass as well, huh?” Keishin obliges, pulling his shirt up and over his head.

Asahi’s next comment is nearly derailed by the sight of lean muscles, but he coaxes some saliva back into his mouth to say, “Maybe you should find out.”

Keishin levels a piercing look at him as he steps close, hands sliding back and around from Asahi’s hips. Where’s this bravado coming from?

Ah, never mind – Asahi squeaks despite himself when Keishin squeezes, and goes bright red when Keishin chuckles. “If you blush any harder, you might melt.”

“Oh my god,” moans Asahi, dropping his head to Keishin’s shoulder as Keishin’s hands come back up to the safe territory of his waist.

“Can I – are you sure you want this? I’m going to fuck you, Asahi.”

“Yes,” Asahi says immediately, lifting his head as his face heats. “Yes, I – want this. I just...I haven’t, um, well, done much.”

His cheeks seem to be trying to rival a nuclear power plant for heat produced, but Keishin has never laughed at him. He’s teased him and laughed with him when misfortunes were recounted, yes, but even from the very beginning he’s never acted like it was funny when Asahi didn’t know his own wants.

Now, Keishin kisses him again and draws off Asahi’s shirt. “With another guy?”

“At all, really,” Asahi confesses to the lamp next to them, shivering when fingertips trail up and down his ribcage. “You know what it’s like; people look at you and make their own assumptions. I tried – with a woman, but...it never – it never felt...right. I’ve – it was hands, mostly, with guys back in Tokyo...”

Keishin hums, whether in agreement or acknowledgement Asahi isn’t sure, especially when he starts kissing along Asahi’s collarbone. Still incredulous he can touch, Asahi carefully lifts his hands to settle them on Keishin’s shoulders and then slides them down his back, long smooth planes of muscle and strong straight spine that never bends even when Karasuno is down at match point.

“Besides, I always thought too much about you,” Asahi’s mouth blurts before his brain can tear itself away from awed contemplation of warm smooth skin. The world freezes for a moment as he realised what he just said, how uncomfortable it must be for Keishin –

He yelps at the bite, negative thoughts expertly diverted as his neck stings and his blood surges. “Never mind Nishinoya, _you’ll_ be the death of me,” growls Keishin, dragging him close and _taking_ kisses from Asahi’s mouth, pressing in again and again and snatching words right off Asahi’s tongue. “Bed, come on, _now_ , bed –”

They topple sideways, hands all over each other. Asahi scrabbles between them for the buttons of their jeans while Keishin gets his hands in Asahi’s hair, clutching fistfuls and tightening his hold until Asahi moans. His head’s spinning, heart thundering, god is this what having a partner you actually _like_ is like? A hard, lean male body against his own who doesn’t expect anything from him but himself, who likes Asahi’s hair, who doesn’t think Asahi’s height and stubble and shoulder breadth means he wants to be called _daddy_ and to control the whole encounter –

Pinned under Keishin, Asahi feels his body melt and his mind quiet.

“There you are,” Keishin says, propping himself up on his forearms either side of Asahi’s head and lifting his kiss-bitten mouth enough to grin down at him.

Asahi loops his arms around Keishin’s neck and grins back, threading a hand through dark hair part of his mind still expects to be blonde. “Here we are,” he amends, boxing Keishin in with both knees.

“You good?”

Asahi nods and blushes more, biting his lip as Keishin kisses his way down Asahi’s sternum, pulling back enough to finish the job of freeing both of them from their jeans. Keishin settles between Asahi’s legs, getting an arm around his left thigh to press his mouth to the muscle. Asahi jolts and bites down on a whimper, fisting his hands in the sheets. Oh god, Keishin is between his legs, this is every dream and every New Year’s wish rolled into one –

“I’m glad you kept up with the gym,” Keishin mutters, sucking little red marks across Asahi’s inner thighs, and then says, as Asahi starts laughing, “Shit, that makes me sound so shallow!”

He’s never laughed this much in bed before, and they haven’t even done anything yet. Asahi’s had a few moments in the backroom with guys who were shy and quiet, who smiled before and offered tissues after, but they barely knew the Tokyo him, the him Asahi had sewn carefully together out of parts of himself to make it in the big city. Keishin knows the Miyagi him as well as the Tokyo him, the parts that are unsure and shy and a little fragile and more determined than he gives himself credit for. He knows the volleyball Asahi as well as the fashion Asahi, and knows how the two intertwine.

“Suga caught me stress-eating a whole bucket of ice cream,” Asahi confesses, “and tattled to Nishinoya, who made me go running with him in the mornings. When he went overseas I just went to the gym instead.”

“Mmmm,” Keishin hums, wrapping Asahi’s legs around his hips as he leans forwards. Asahi welcomes him back up, lifting his shoulders slightly so Keishin can get under them and running his own hands over every inch of Keishin that he can reach. The divots in his lower back, the scar along his bottom rib from where he fell out of a treehouse as a child, the mouth-watering tapered V of his hips and the power in his shoulders... “I swear I want you for more than just your body…”

A breathy laugh escapes Asahi, mostly out of nerves that have come flooding right back in. It’s not like he’s never dreamed of Keishin wanting him – far from it – but…he still doesn’t really understand what else about him finally made Keishin look back. His body is one thing, even if it’s not as conditioned as in his volleyball days…

A bite to his collarbone nips Asahi neatly out of his head. “Thinking too hard,” Keishin says, and soothes the bite with a kiss. “Nervous? It’s just me.”

_That’s why_ , Asahi wants to say, but before he can Keishin rocks his hips forwards and Asahi’s voice breaks. Oh, he can’t believe he’s forgotten about this part amid all his overthinking but now, with nothing but their boxers between them, Asahi remembers, arching into the pressure with a startled groan. God, Keishin is hard against him and the heat and friction of the slow thrusts of his hips makes Asahi’s toes curl.

“When – ah! – when did you first…want me?” He blurts out, rocking back against Keishin and digging his fingers into his shoulders.

Crap, he didn’t mean to actually say that in the middle of sex! Way to make a man run for the hills!

“All the close calls we’ve had,” rasps Keishin, stretching over Asahi for the drawer in the bedside table and kissing his chin as he goes, “and now you’re wondering?”

“I…never knew in the first place? And this is the first time we’re actually...” He gathers his courage and a decent helping of arousal, too long held back, and bucks against Keishin for emphasis.

Keishin fumbles the lube onto the bed beside them. “Slowest foreplay of my fucking life,” he grins sheepishly, and shifts away to pull off his own underwear. _Ohmygod_ – a blush flames Asahi’s cheeks, but he only gets a second to panic before Keishin is reaching for Asahi’s.

He tenses.

Keishin freezes, hands on Asahi’s thighs. “Alright?”

Asahi swallows. Isn’t adrenaline and lust and physical exertion supposed to mute thought? He’s on such a rollercoaster tonight, surely it’s not meant to be this volatile. Volleyball always used to sweep away the worries outside the court until only the net, the ball and the players mattered. Maybe he’s not doing sex right. “You…you do want this, right? You…” Asahi can’t meet Keishin’s eyes, and addresses his next anxious question to Keishin’s left shoulder as Asahi fists his hands in the sheets. “You do want…me?”

Another weighty moment but no smoke to share, no alcohol to turn it golden.

“Asahi, look at me,” Keishin says a second later, voice calm and sure. They’ve won matches with that voice, and Asahi responds instinctively to find Keishin smiling so tenderly that he blinks, and blinks again, too surprised to blush. “I want you so much I even considered moving away from Karasuno because I was so goddamn unprofessional about it.”

“What?” Asahi blurts, propping himself up on his elbows.

Keishin kisses the skin by his knee, smoothing his hands up and down Asahi’s legs. He looks a little wry now. “Asahi, I nearly took a spike to the face last September when you helped out at training in that tight white singlet with your hair down. I nearly fucked you in my parents’ garden in August. I still wake up sometimes and just for a second I’ll think, _I hope I can see Asahi before I go to work_.”

Asahi gapes at him.

Keishin laughs a little self-deprecatingly and kisses Asahi’s knee again. “Don’t look so surprised. Don’t you know how amazing you are? I guess I did a good job of hiding it. I…I’m a man nine years older than you, Asahi, who held a position of authority over you. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel…alone and unwanted when it was just the opposite, but please understand I could never have lived with myself if I made the first move and you regretted it, or worse, went along with it because you felt compelled, because you were the ace and I was your coach.”

_Oh, Keishin_ …Asahi lunges forward and wraps his arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, clutching Keishin close. “I don’t doubt you, I promise.” He nestles closer, tucking his nose into the hollow under Keishin’s jaw as warm board hands sweep soothingly across his back. “I just…can’t believe I get to have you, and I think it’s messing with my head.”

Keishin laughs softly. “Yeah, I’m getting a bit of that too. Do you want to stop?”

Asahi shakes his head. “Slowest foreplay...sounds about right.”

Another laugh, and the solemn tension softens, sweetens. Another kiss, and another, and another. “Took us a while to get here, but better late than never.”

“Down a set, Karasuno makes a miracle recovery and wins the game!” Asahi mimics, using the strange lilting enthusiasm of that one commentator from Nationals to keep his mind off being naked and laid bare as Keishin slides Asahi’s underwear off and lays him back on the mattress. The belly laugh shakes Keishin so much he has to prop himself up on Asahi’s knees to avoid pressing his lubed hand into the sheets.

“God, don’t,” he wheezes, “I can’t think of the team while we’re doing this.”

“I still have my old jersey,” Asahi tells him shyly, and enjoys the bloom of pleasure in his chest as Keishin splutters. This feels better, feels easier. It’s just Keishin, a man who worries and cares and wonders just as much as Asahi does.

“I never know what’s going to come out your mouth next, man-bun,” Keishin says, and promptly occupies his own with Asahi’s cock.

Asahi shouts in surprise before smacking his hand across his mouth, panting at the warm, wet heat around his cock. “God,” he moans into his palm, watching with awe as Keishin sinks down and back up. “Oh god, _god_ , K-Keishin! _”_

Keishin pulls off, smirking. “Now that, I do like hearing out of your mouth.” He curls his left hand around Asahi, using saliva to ease the glide as his right rests cool against Asahi’s entrance. Asahi nods, panting, hands in the sheets and head in the clouds. “To answer your question in more detail...”

“What question?” Asahi wonders hazily, breathing through the stretch as Keishin’s index pushes inside him. Looks like lust and physical exertion are finally doing their job and clearing his head.

Keishin twists around the head of his cock and Asahi arches, groaning. “When I wanted you.”

The finger crooks inside him and Asahi bites at the edge of his palm to silence himself, every nerve ending in his body lights up. He’s been fingered before, but as an addition to a blowjob, not the prelude to the main event. He’s so glad it’s Keishin, so glad that his sleepless nights staring at various patterned fabrics strewn across the room wondering, _what’s wrong with me, what do I want, casual sex isn’t such a big thing why can’t I just_ , rewarded him with this, rollercoaster and all.

_I’m allowed to want_ , Asahi tells himself as Keishin carefully adds a second finger. _I can want to be taken care of, for once._

“I knew you were attractive, before we woke up in Tokyo.” Keishin adds more lube and ducks down to kiss Asahi’s stomach, scissoring the two fingers inside him carefully. His voice, fuck, _his voice_ … “But we were friends, and you were only just finding what you wanted to do with your future. Then I woke up, and there you were, grown more into yourself after two years, sprawled out like some sort of model.”

Asahi makes some sort of squeaking noise he’ll deny till to death, but Keishin just laughs, low and rough. “If I wasn’t so hung-over and feeling guilty as hell, I would have jumped you then and there.”

“If…” Asahi breathes through a twist of fingers, “If I didn’t feel like moving would make me sick I would have too.”

“Good thing we didn’t, huh? No vomiting now.”

“Don’t,” groans Asahi, pulling a face as Keishin laughs.

“I messed around with a bit of everything after high school but when I started at Karasuno I was too busy for anything but volleyball and work. Then volleyball became more and more important, and even though people nagged me about dating I didn’t think much beyond the next tournament.”

“I didn’t get you in trouble back then, did I?” Asahi asks breathlessly, looking down his body at the breathtaking man between his legs. “I meant to ask, I was worried –”

“And that,” Keishin says softly, “is why I want you.”

Red floods his cheeks again and Asahi stares, propped awkwardly up on his elbows to see Keishin properly. “What – what do you mean?”

Keishin smiles at him again, tenderness and something a little amused turning it lopsided as a rare divot curves in his right cheek. “So we end up in bed together, and you don’t push. You come down to Miyagi to see Kageyama and the others off for graduation, you come to the games, and you stay my friend and...” he looks off into the middle distance of memory for a moment before meeting Asahi’s eyes again, nose crinkling with his widening smile. “And you fit so perfectly into my life for three months it’s like you’re meant to be there, and you don’t expect me to fall at your feet? Idiot.” Keishin tuts, shaking his head and twisting his wrist.

Asahi collapses off his elbows back to the mattress, and nearly misses Keishin’s next words in the wave of strange pressure-stretch-pleasure, “Just when I realised there could be something other than volleyball and work, I had to let you go. Then some stupid, wilfully blind part of me attempts a relationship mostly to shut my mother up and boy, didn’t that go spectacularly. Like I said, slowest foreplay.”

“You...” Asahi grits his teeth as Keishin scissors his fingers again, rocking his hand so the stretch of knuckles sends confused nerve-endings firing sporadically up Asahi’s spine, “Don’t blame yourself. You were looking for something. Everybody does.”

He remembers wondering, hoping, standing at the train station with Keishin a foot away and neither looking at each other at the right time to catch the other looking back. The other words he tucks deep inside himself, safe and warm, to marvel over when sparks aren’t flitting up and down his spine.

“I should have looked to myself, and not dragged her into the mess,” Keishin murmurs, taking hold of Asahi’s neglected erection again and pumping.

“It’s over now,” Asahi murmurs, eyes closed as Keishin’s fist tightens around him. It hadn’t been quite the right time, and he wouldn’t change anything if it risked this moment, here, now. Still, those three months will always be something precious _._

But he doesn’t like feeling that they’re being buried under past regrets. “So, ugly vases aren’t the way into your heart. Any other tips?”

The sombre, wistful atmosphere falls away as Keishin barks a laugh, jolting his fingers inside Asahi enough that it sends his back bowing up off the bed. “Ah, crap, sorry, is that –”

“Again,” Asahi rasps, rocking back to try and achieve that same sensation.

Keishin’s worry is overtaken by a smug smirk, and he obliges. Asahi groans. “You can buy me ugly vases if you really want to,” he says, adding a third finger before striking again at the bundle of nerves inside Asahi. “But I reserve the right to blame a bird if they mysteriously break.”

“If you –” Asahi keens, biting again at his hand as Keishin swallows around the head of his cock with no warning, twisting three long clever setter fingers deep inside him, “if you make – ah god! – make me th-think about Takeda-sensei, I’ll –”

Keishin pulls off, pressing his face to Asahi’s thigh. “Fuck, that is not the mental image I needed just then, man-bun, thanks a lot. Just as long as I don’t have an ugly urn for my ashes, I’m good.” He grins, finally withdrawing his fingers and wiping them carelessly next to him as he reaches for a condom.

“Why do you keep thinking that?” Asahi asks, propping himself up on his elbows again – and more conscious this time of how good his abdominals still look.

“I’m terrified of what Nishinoya’s going to do when he finds out I’ve fucked his best friend.”

Asahi grins, resigning himself to the flush of pink across his face and probably creeping down his chest. “He won’t do anything. I want you in one piece.”

“Which piece of me, darlin’?” Keishin leers, opening the condom wrapper. Asahi blushes and sits up, ignoring the momentary discomfort in favour of helping roll on the condom and finally – oh my good god – getting his hand on Keishin’s dick.

“I miss your blonde sometimes,” he murmurs, aware that he’s blushing at touching his almost-lover’s cock and trying to divert attention. He sweeps a hand down and grips the base, scratching gently through the dark hair. Keishin kisses his temple like he knows what Asahi’s doing, but doesn’t call him out on it.

“I figured being the head coach of a Nationally-recognised powerhouse school meant I needed the look the part too.” He kisses Asahi’s ear. “How do you want this? It would probably be easier on your hands and knees for a first time.”

Asahi shakes his head. For god’s sake, he’s had Keishin’s fingers in the most intimate parts of himself; talking about positions should not make him blush. But he wants him, Asahi wants this, and he’s going to take it. “I want to s-see you, if that’s...if we can.”

“You can’t want to see me as much as I do you.” Keishin coaxes him back and puts a pillow under Asahi’s hips.

Asahi laughs shyly, letting himself fall onto the mattress and tucking his knees around Keishin’s waist. “I doubt that.”

Keishin smiles, tipping more lube into his hand, and slips two fingers back into Asahi with a question on his face, twisting his wrist. Asahi nods, bunching the sheets in his hands as he starts taking deep breaths. “Hey, easy. If you don’t like something, tell me. Not like I’m going to make you run punishment laps.”

Asahi laughs helplessly on an exhale, admiring in the way sweat’s started beading on Keishin’s skin. “Yeah, I know. Team sport.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth Asahi stares at the ceiling, horrified, but Keishin just chuckles. “Damn right it is. Okay, ready? Want the umpire to blow the whistle?”

“Oh my god,” Asahi begins, biting his lip to prevent a laugh betraying him, and then loses all trains of thought as Keishin withdraws his fingers and presses in the tip of his cock. Despite himself, Asahi tenses, nerves rekindling.

“Relax, man-bun,” Keishin chides, shifting until he can rest his weight on his hands on either side of Asahi’s chest. “Don’t fumble the receive.”

“Oh my god,” Asahi wheezes again, mostly out of horror at the pun, and Keishin takes the opportunity. Asahi jolts, whispers, _god_ , once more, arches his back, _oh_ so this is what it feels like –

“Alright?”

Breath shudders out of Asahi as sensation sparks up and down his spine. His body doesn’t quite know what to do with the feeling, the stretch and pressure, but there’s a hand on his cheek and when he opens his eyes, it’s Keishin, only Keishin, hovering over him. His eyes are dark and his jaw set like he wants to pause for Asahi’s sake but is just as affected – like Asahi’s body is affecting him. Oh god this doesn’t seem real, years of waiting and wanting and refusing to let himself think about it culminating in _this_ …

“Yeah,” Asahi manages, and Keishin gently rocks forward again. Oh he is bigger than fingers, hotter and harder, Asahi’s being split in two; the slow inexorable push is driving the air from his lungs and the thoughts from his head. “Ah, wait –!”

Keishin freezes instantly, forearm shaking where it’s pressed against Asahi’s side. “Hurt?”

“No,” pants Asahi, willing himself to relax, drawing in shaky breaths. “Just –”

“A lot?”

Asahi exhales, then nods. “I’m f-fine, you can –”

Keishin swears rough and low as he presses deeper, carefully, slowly, and drops his forehead to Asahi’s chest when they’re finally flush together.

“Good?” He rasps, looking up, his pupils blown.

Asahi groans, muscles tightening, and Keishin swears again, a short sharp _fuck_! as he bucks a little – Asahi hisses at the feeling, tipping his head back and tugging at his fistfuls of sheets.

“Sorry, sorry, so fucking _tight_ , god.”

“Sorry,” Asahi starts, but Keishin just groans and kisses his throat.

“Don’t, you’re perfect. Breathe, Asahi, relax, how d’you feel?”

Asahi breathes and makes another conscious effort to relax, loosening muscles from his shoulders to his back to his trembling thighs around Keishin’s waist.

“That’s it, there we go,” Keishin groans, easing Asahi’s hips up a little more on his own thighs. “Ready?” He withdraws slightly and rocks forward, giving Asahi time to adjust before doing it again, and again, and again, drawing back further each time until he can _thrust_ forward, muscles bunching. Asahi shouts, can’t not, spine arching at the heat scorching up his body. Keishin swears again, getting one hand tight on Asahi’s hip to help angle his thrusts, and does it again.

“Keishin,” Asahi groans, loosening one fist from the sheets and clinging to Keishin’s shoulder. “Are you –?”

“Good, perfect, yeah,” Keishin agrees breathlessly, curving over him. He can’t quite kiss Keishin like this, Asahi finds, but when Keishin thrusts forward now with this new angle –

The world lights up and Asahi has to slap a hand across his mouth again to muffle the shouts. Yes, god, there – Keishin does it again and Asahi arcs off the bed, cock achingly hard where it’s pressed between them.

“Asahi,” Keishin pants, sweat beading at his temples, hair dishevelled. “Asahi, fuck.”

A laugh punches its way out of his chest at the next thrust, and Asahi wants to say, _we are, finally_ , but the only words available are _yes, oh,_ and _Keishin_ , order negotiable. Keishin grins, probably guessing, and cranes forward enough to kiss him, a messy, panting thing that turns Asahi’s heart to mush as they breathe into each other’s mouths, no smoke between them to lend tangibility to the exchange of desire.

Time dissolves, blurs, fades away, unimportant now that the two of them are together, feeding pleasure back and forth as the burn of muscles fixes them here, now. Keishin mouths at Asahi’s nipple, Asahi rakes his fingers down Keishin’s back, Keishin digs bruises into Asahi’s thigh and they laugh when Keishin’s elbow gives out, dropping him into Asahi’s chest.

“Fuck! You – good?”

Asahi’s too breathless to laugh now, wrapping both arms around Keishin. “So good.”

“Good,” Keishin huffs, getting his hand between their bodies to grip Asahi’s neglected erection. Fuck good, Asahi thinks he’s passed transcendent. Keishin pants a laugh at the shout the action evokes, then chokes as Asahi clamps down on him at the dual sensations. “Fuck, you’re perfect, Asahi – are you close, are you, how do you feel, fuck –”

“Keishin,” he keens, pleasure soaring higher and higher like the jump before his most powerful spike, triple block fading away before him and nothing left but open court and the whiteout of ecstasy as he reaches the summit. He thinks he shouts, or maybe just arches soundlessly, body locking up as his climax spikes through him and he holds Keishin close.

“Asahi,” Keishin moans, sounding almost like he’s in pain. “Can I – fuck, you’re beautiful –”

Asahi feels like he did at the end of the Shiratorizawa match, breathless and aching, astonished and exhilarated beyond all measure. “Keishin,” he whispers, hoarse, and relaxes his grip. Keishin’s shaking with the effort of holding himself still. God, Asahi adores him. “Yeah,” he murmurs, melting back into the bed.

Keishin groans and thrusts again with short, jerky rolls of his hips, swearing under his breath. It’s a little uncomfortable, Asahi decides, too over-sensitive to fully enjoy the sight of his body driving Keishin to abandon as he chases his orgasm, but when after three, four, five desperate strokes, Keishin seizes, tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief before collapsing down onto Asahi, he wants to freeze the moment forever and hold it close.

Maybe not this close. Keishin’s solid muscle atop him, crushing the breath Asahi needs to restart his brain. Just before he says anything, though, Keishin groans and withdraws carefully before toppling sideways and off him.

“Holy fuck,” he says, dazed.

“Agreed,” Asahi pants.

They lie there for another long minute, waiting for various cognitive functions to come back on line, and then Keishin hauls himself up to dispose of the condom and stagger over to the bathroom. Asahi watches him, admiring the view. The intimacy tints the scene with something warm, but it’s still rather an adjustment to see Keishin’s bare ass strolling casually through his bedroom, the taper of his waist and power of his thighs a recurring highlight of Asahi’s dreams.

Keishin returns a moment later holding a cloth, and he grins as he catches Asahi’s gaze. Asahi is fairly sure he’s too pink all over for the blush to be visible, but stranger things have happened.

“You look –” Keishin cuts himself off with an obscene sound, winking to complete the effect. “Hell, if you ever needed inspiration for, like, a line of luxurious debauchery,” he frames Asahi between thumbs and forefingers, “look no further.”

Asahi grabs the pillow beside him and crushes it over his face, groaning. “You can’t say things like that!”

The warm damp cloth is swiped over his skin and Asahi is glad for the pillow over his face as Keishin carefully dabs between his thighs. “I damn well can,” Keishin says, kissing an old bruise on Asahi’s shin like he can’t get enough of him. “I’ve never lied to you, man-bun.”

Asahi emerges from behind the pillow, coaxing Keishin down for another kiss with a hand at the back of his neck. “I know.” Keishin tosses the towel haphazardly over his shoulder as he climbs back onto the bed and settles on his back; Asahi tugs the blankets up and drapes himself over Keishin’s chest. Judging by the grin, Keishin remembers the last time they ended up like this.

They breathe together for a while, soaking in the warmth, one of Keishin’s hands under his own head and the other stroking down Asahi’s back, fingers caressing a scattering of freckles.

“God I want a cigarette,” Keishin groans eventually, voice rough.

Asahi laughs. “I’m not stopping you.”

“No, I wasn’t even supposed to have the one earlier. One a week, saved for when the team really stresses me out.”

Asahi kisses his grin into the warm skin below him.

“So now you’ve caught your crow,” Keishin says a while later, and Asahi blinks himself out of his doze, “What next?”

He’s still feeling too good to really tense up, and Keishin is now stroking through his hair. So he hums and starts tracing abstract patterns on Keishin’s chest.

“For starters, cook you some better food than the packet soups on your counter. And maybe design you a new winter coat.”

“Hmm, talk dirty to me, darlin’,” Keishin leers playfully, craning his neck to kiss Asahi’s forehead.

He’s never been kissed this much in bed before; never felt so happy and so wanted. He could cry if he had the energy, if Asahi’s whole body wasn’t melting like every part of him wants to curl up in the gaps between the atoms that make up every part of Keishin.

“I’m going to keep you,” he says quietly, tucking his courage inside him and curling up closer, laying his cheek against Keishin’s chest. If it means he hasn’t properly looked Keishin in the face since they cleaned up, so much the better. “If – as long as you – wouldn’t mind?”

“You know, I was hoping you would,” Keishin replies, equally softly. “I plan on keeping you, after all, now that you’re sure. Now that you’re here. But how long are you?”

Asahi tenses at that and Keishin tugs gently at his hair. “Don’t get your undies in a twist, man-bun.”

“You already made sure I wasn’t wearing anything,” Asahi mutters, trying to burrow deeper in Keishin’s shoulder.

“And you were stunning. What I meant, is how are we going to work this out? Look, I don’t have the best track record with relationships, but – I want this. You do too…right?”

Asahi tightens his hand on Keishin’s hip. “More than anything.”

“God, I’ll never get used to that,” Keishin marvels quietly, sounding so amazed Asahi would want him when he stops the breath in Asahi’s chest just by smiling. Maybe they’re both idiots. “But you have to go back to Tokyo. You’ve still got a year left, yeah?”

“Yeah, but...”

“No buts.”

“I can work something out,” Asahi whispers. “I want to be with you.”

“Wow,” Keishin says, smile audible in his voice. “I can actually feel you blush, you know.”

Asahi pinches his side. “I can take another long-distance study, maybe…and if I get a job after graduation, I might have to work in the office for the first few months, maybe a year, but I can transfer after that, or work from home a few days of the week, or something.”

“You’re not the only one who can get a new job, you know,” Keishin says, continuing to stroke Asahi’s hair. “Why should you be the only one to make sacrifices? It’s taken us this long to get here, after all. Compromise, not sacrifice. Karasuno isn’t the only high school in the world. I might not have any formal coaching experience, but with a resume like mine, I could have a few powerhouse schools in Tokyo begging at my feet. And my parents are going to run Sakanoshita forever, so we have time.”

Asahi lifts his head, almost unable to believe his ears. “You – you’d leave Karasuno?”

“Asahi,” Keishin says, tilting to look him in the eye, mouth curving softly. “It’s just a school. A crazy, amazing, Nationals-recognised school, but only a school. And I’m just one coach. There are other people who could get Karasuno to Nationals, and there are other schools who could benefit from an experienced instructor. We can do long-distance until we figure something out.”

Asahi’s speechless and Keishin seems to realise: he grins instead and cups a hand under Asahi’s jaw to draw him into another kiss. “Slowest foreplay of my life,” he says roughly when they part, drawing a thumb across Asahi’s bottom lip. “Conditioning by repetition. What about moving slowly makes you think I don’t play for keeps?”

The flood of feeling inside him overwhelms its banks, cascading over everything. Asahi pulls back almost too roughly to hide his face in Keishin’s neck, pressing hard enough his nose stings. “ _Keishin_ ,” he whispers thickly. “...I...Thank you.”

“For what?”

For wanting me back, he wants to say. For caring. For compromising, and for thinking about the future. For being you.

But he can’t say any of it yet. Partly because his throat is too full of tears to let words get in the way, and partly...well. Partly because those words aren’t the only ones in under his tongue, and slowest foreplay or not, he can’t let his heart out just yet. That’s going to have to wait a little while longer, till they’ve worked out how to be the kind of partners they want to be. There’s plenty of time, after all. The future isn’t going anywhere.

“I probably don’t have much for breakfast,” Keishin continues, probably guessing from the way Asahi is holding him that Asahi can’t say anything. “We can go out, if you’re not too sore.”

“Why – oh. Um. Maybe.” Asahi’s face flames again as Keishin’s hand comes down to rest on his lower back. “Is your arm falling asleep?”

Keishin grunts. “A little. Turn over?”

They shuffle and shift a bit more, until Keishin is comfortably curved chest to Asahi’s back, arm over Asahi’s waist. Asahi interlaces their fingers over his stomach and smiles into his pillow, almost unable to believe it’s possible to be this happy. “See you in the morning,” he whispers like it’s a secret.

“It’s already a million times better than the last time we tried this,” Keishin murmurs.

“And no hangover,” Asahi laughs sleepily.

It’s true: when he wakes late the next morning, curled on Keishin’s back, it’s to a clear head and a heart floating so high it’s hit the stratosphere.

“Mrnin’,” Keishin mumbles, waking after Asahi shifts gently off him. He turns to face Asahi and stretches an arm over him, crooked grin and sleepy eyes.

“Morning,” he whispers back.

It’s so strange to be lying here with Keishin, naked and curled close, strange and a little embarrassing and plenty nerve-wracking, but somehow...it’s not so strange at all. Happiness is turning every bone liquid as the warmth of the mattress and the weight of Keishin’s smile anchors him further.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Asahi, what’s wrong?”

Keishin’s voice is too sharp for the somnolent setting, and Asahi opens his eyes to feel Keishin swipe at tears on his cheeks.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, um, nothing, nothing’s wrong, really!”

He yanks the blankets up to scrub at his face, but Keishin’s sitting up now, hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me?”

Asahi laughs a little, mortification turning his whole body red. “I just…sorry. I wasn’t crying, really. It’s just…from February, hearing about her and being so upset when I didn’t even have a right to be, and then August, when you were free but I was still so cowardly about even thinking of changing things between us, to now…”

He scrunches his eyes closed, embarrassed to the point of death and suddenly so aware of the rollercoaster of emotions inside him.

“Too much going on in here, right?” Keishin hums, and fingers tap Asahi’s temple. “I am sorry, Asahi, about how I handled August. It was just…you were everything I wanted, and it seemed like a good idea until…well. A coach, kissing an ex-player right after a break-up: my grandfather would have killed me.”

Asahi looks up at him, frowning. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And I was waiting, but that wasn’t fair, either, since I didn’t try to make anything happen.”

“Right,” Keishin says. “The first order of business is drilling it into your head that you damn well deserve more from other people. We clear?”

Asahi blinks at him, bewildered.

“Close enough,” Keishin says, ducking down to kiss Asahi again. It’s more than a little sour with the long night in their mouths but the heat is still a flashfire between them. Asahi’s body responds as one of Keishin’s hands find its way to his chest, and he groans into the kiss, running his hands over the flexing muscles in Keishin’s back as he hovers over Asahi.

Just as he tries to lift up into the kiss, though, warning pings in his lower back, and Asahi goes still. Keishin breaks the kiss immediately, looking down at him.

“Alright?”

Asahi bites his lip, the dull ache at his tailbone more obvious now. “Um…”

“Oh,” Keishin says, grinning a little guiltily. “Sore?”

“A little,” Asahi owns, letting Keishin go as he sits up.

“Damn,” he tuts, rummaging through his bedside drawer and offering Asahi two painkillers and the half-full glass of water. “There go my plans for morning sex.”

Asahi gulps down the tablets. On one hand, he is rather tender at the moment. On the other…morning sex. With Keishin.

“I can see the cogs turning, man-bun, and the answer is no,” Keishin says, getting out of bed and grabbing some sweatpants off the floor before disappearing into the bathroom. His voice echoes out over the sound of running water, “You’ll thank me later. Did you bring anything? How long are you down for?”

“I brought a change of clothes,” Asahi says, sitting up carefully, “but I might have to use your washing machine.” It’s not so bad, but he’s definitely tender. The blush that follows last night’s memories spreads all the way to his chest, but Asahi just beams to himself and pulls on his underwear before limping just a little into the bathroom.

He fishes out his toothbrush, but when they glance at their respective stubble in the mirror, Keishin hands him a spare razor.

“I got on the first bus out of Tokyo before I could overthink myself into knots,” Asahi confesses, spreading the lather. “But as for school, we’re not really busy this week. It’s prep for winter placement and I’ve done most of it.”

“How long can you stay?”

Asahi concentrates on tapping the foam off the blade. “I don’t want to get in your way…”

“Asahi, if you think I’ve got any plans that don’t revolve around you in my bed, think again.”

He swallows down the heat in his belly. “What about training?”

Keishin pulls a face. “What’s today?”

“Wednesday.”

“I can skip today, but I’ll have to go Thursday and Friday. Good thing prelims are two weeks away. Can you stay till Sunday?”

“Please.”

“Done,” Keishin says, and the brightness in Asahi’s chest compels him to press a kiss to the newly-shaved skin under Keishin’s eye.

The formidable crow coach goes a little pink and shoves Asahi into the shower.

Breakfast, technically lunch, is canned soup as Keishin calls Takeda and his mother – Asahi feels guilty, but only a little – and then they wander through a market stall on the other side of the town, stocking up for dinner. It’s difficult, keeping his hands to himself, but Asahi feels like anyone who looks at him could see their secret anyway. Keishin holds up a wonky potato and Asahi laughs, swaying in much too close to whisper in his ear; Keishin guides him with a hand low and possessive in the small of his back; they look too long and too often at each other’s mouths to be able to concentrate on anything else, which makes the drive back more than a little perilous.

“Don’t…don’t drop the eggs,” Keishin cautions between kisses, pushing Asahi back against the closed door of the apartment.

“Put them on the table,” he gasps, widening his stance so Keishin’s knee fits neatly between his thighs.

Keishin fumbles to put the bag with the eggs down safely. “Swear to god, man-bun, if you make me come in my jeans…”

“Take them off?” Asahi suggests with what he hazily considers to be excellent advice. By the time they reach the bedroom, Keishin has one sock on and Asahi’s yanking off his shirt, Keishin’s mouth hot and frantic against his throat. The pace is fast, uncoordinated, hands flying over each other until their knuckles collide. Asahi drags Keishin’s hands up into his hair, and then grips both their cocks, twining their legs together. It’s rough without lube, but the possibility of stopping to do something about that doesn’t occur to them until afterwards, panting on their backs side by side.

Eventually, Asahi picks himself up and stumbles, weak-legged, into the bathroom for his second shower that day. “I might need to borrow a shirt later,” he says, buttoning up his jeans.

“Sure,” Keishin says, popping gum into his mouth as his fingers twitch. “I’ll run the laundry. Are you gonna see your aunts?”

Asahi pauses. “Later.”

Keishin nods and loops his fingers in Asahi’s belt, tugging him forward. “Fuck, I’m thirty and you got me behaving like a damn teenager again.”

Asahi smiles giddily down at him, running his fingers through Keishin’s hair. “I’m twenty-one and I’ve never felt surer. Besides, I don’t remember any of us being like this when we teenagers.”

“You’ve met Tanaka Ryuunosuke and Nishinoya Yuu, right? And don’t remind me that I knew you when you were seventeen.”

Is the gap really is too much for Keishin? “My parents were nine years apart.”

“Mine are eight,” Keishin agrees, running his hands up and down Asahi’s thighs. “I just…”

Asahi swallows, catching Keishin’s hands in his own. “Is that…something you’re really concerned about? I’m sure Kuroo-san will enjoy telling people he met Tsukishima when Tsukishima was fifteen.”

“Are you serious?” Keishin splutters. “A cat with one of my crows?”

Asahi laughs. “Well, I might be jumping the gun, but it’ll happen sooner or later.”

“Oh my god,” Keishin groans, pressing his cheek to Asahi’s stomach. “I should have kept a closer eye on him at training camp. Nekomata’s going to hold that over me until he dies.” He sighs and tugs Asahi down to sit on the bed beside him. “I’m not concerned, exactly. Or, well, more than normal. Just, being your coach…might make some things a little more difficult.”

“You weren’t even my coach for a whole year, and since then we’ve spent the last three in different cities. Do you not want to tell anyone?”

“We wouldn’t even manage to keep it secret for a week,” Keishin sighs wryly. “No, we’ll tell people, if you want to.”

“Nishinoya will be able to read it off my face,” Asahi confesses. “Suga, too. And Shimada-san definitely knows.”

“God, he is going to be so smug,” Keishin groans. “My parents already love you. The people who know us won’t mind, but it’ll make for awkward introductions in the future.”

The future…introductions in the future…Asahi squeezes Keishin’s hand tightly. “My aunts will love you too.”

“Sae might not,” Keishin says. “Not after August. She knows, doesn’t she?”

Asashi nods, leaning into him. “I didn’t tell her, but she knew. She just needs to get to know you better.”

“Well, I hope so. I still need her curry recipe, you know.”

“The true motive,” Asahi smiles, admiring the way their hands fit.

“Exactly. Speaking of, I’m starving,” Keishin says, letting go of Asahi’s hand to tug once at his hair before standing. “Do the potatoes while I put the fish on?”

Nishinoya calls the next afternoon, when Asahi is reading on the couch. He answers automatically, only realising it’s a video-call when Nishinoya’s grin blooms across the screen.

Asahi freezes like a deer in headlights, suddenly certain Nishinoya is going to take one look at him and just _know_ – how could he not? How could anyone not, when it feels like happiness is bursting from every cell, every pore?

“Asahi! How’re you doing?”

“Oh, uh, Noya, hi! I’m fine, how about you? It’s good to see you, sorry I missed you before.”

“No worries! I’m great, leaving New Delhi tomorrow and we’re going to work our way up the coast on some bicycles. They’re so wonky, Asahi, I bet someone’s going to break theirs and then we’ll be screwed!”

Nishinoya points the phone at the window, chattering a mile a minute, and Asahi nods along, smiling.

“Looks amazing! But maybe don’t tell Daichi about the crash with the cow…?”

Nishinoya laughs. “That’s what Tanaka said. But what are you up to?”

Asahi glances around the living room. Keishin’s at practice, and he finished a few designs earlier, perched, a little embarrassingly, on a cushion. “Not much, I –”

“Hey, what’s on your neck?”

Asahi’s hand flies up before his mind fully processes what Nishinoya said. Oh my _god_ – “Uh, nothing, why?”

“It looks like a –” Nishinoya’s eyes go huge. “ASAHI! IS THAT A BITE MARK?”

“Shhhh!” Asahi hisses, blushing so hard his face hurts. “It’s not, don’t be –”

“IT IS!”

The phone camera shakes for a moment as Nishinoya scrambles to sit upright, staring so close at the screen all Asahi can see is his forehead and that tuft of hair. He frantically yanks the hood of the jumper he’s wearing up over his head and tries to hide.

“ASAHI YOU HAVE TO TELL ME OH MY GOD!”

Asahi groans, bringing his knees up to his chest. “Not so loud!”

“IS IT?”

“This is the most embarrassing –”

“WHO?”

He pauses, feeling the sun burning brightly inside him. It feels too strong to be doused, but also strangely fragile, like a cloud could blot it out. “I…can you trust me a little longer, Yuu?”

Hardly anyone uses Nishinoya’s first name: as he’d hoped it grabs Nishinoya’s attention.

“Of course I can, Asahi,” he says more calmly. “What do you mean?”

Asahi emerges from his cocoon. “I…” This time the smile escapes. When he manages to glance back at the screen, Nishinoya’s staring like he’s never seen Asahi before. “I’ve got a boyfriend?” he mumbles to his knees.

Nishinoya whoops so loudly someone bangs on his door.

“But please don’t ask me anything yet!” Asahi pleads. “It’s so new, Noya…and it feels so…” he makes a helpless noise. “I’ll tell you soon, I promise, I just…”

“I get it,” Nishinoya says, grinning too, less manically. “The only time I’ve seen you like this was when we beat Shiratorizawa.”

Asahi laughs. “It feels like it, too. Half of me can’t believe it yet either. I think – I hope you’ll like him. It’s…we’ve…I can’t even think.”

The sound of the door being unlocked catches his ear, and Asahi forgets pretty much everything as he looks up.

“He’s there, isn’t he?” Nishinoya asks knowingly, a smug glint in his eye. “Have fun! Be safe! Tell him I want to meet him!”

“I, uh, yes, I will, I’m sorry, do you mind if –”

“I’ll call you later!”

Asahi fumbles to end the call just as Keishin calls out, “I’m home!”

“Welcome back,” he answers, tossing the phone onto the couch. He reaches the doorway just as Keishin strides into the living room, and Asahi pauses before they run into each other – but Keishin doesn’t, instead stepping even closer and up into the kiss, driving all thought out of Asahi’s head.

“You,” Asahi pants, a few minutes and several pieces of clothes later, falling backwards over the arm onto the couch, “you left – Noya saw – b-bite, ah!”

“Which one?”

“What do you mean, which one?” Asahi demands breathlessly.

Keishin looks up from yanking off Asahi’s jeans, smirking. “I mean, which one?”

Asahi gestures at his neck. “This one! What kind of conversation did you think I was having if he could see the others?”

Keishin has to grab the arm of the couch he’s laughing so hard. “I’m sorry,” he gasps. “You’re right, I was just being…but oh my god, his face…”

Asahi groans, covering his eyes. “I don’t want think about it…”

“I’m sorry,” Keishin wheezes again, wiping his eyes and dropping to his knees in front of the couch. “Let me make it up to you?”

Opening one eye, Asahi glances at him and blushes. It’s not really an ambiguous position, to kneel in front of someone else who’s not wearing any pants… “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure I want to suck my partner’s dick? Yes, absolutely. And he blushes so beautifully, too.”

Asahi moans, letting his legs be tugged sideways off the couch. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? Does it embarrass you?” Keishin’s voice has gone low and husky, and it might only have been forty-eight hours but that sex-drenched rasp already kicks Asahi’s heartrate up and sends blood coursing south. “If you really don’t like it, I won’t, but what a crime…”

Asahi’s going to die, sex with his new boyfriend is actually going to kill him. “I…it’s not…”

Keishin’s breath is warm, and Asahi’s thoughts are derailed when a tongue laps once at the head of his hardening cock. “Oh, god!”

“Mmm,” Keishin agrees, alternating between stroking him and licking up the vein to bring Asahi to full-mast. “So, do you?”

Asahi flings his head back, hands over his face, fingers twisted into his own hair. “I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Keishin asks, before taking the head into his mouth. How he expects Asahi to be able to talk at all is beyond him. Hollowing his cheeks, Keishin bobs once, twice, and then takes a sharp breath before opening his throat.

Asahi barely muffles the shout in time, and the vibrations of Keishin chuckling short-circuit his brain. He feels a hand at his hip to stop him bucking and manages remorsefully to still his hips, but everything else is subsumed by the pleasure cresting swiftly under Keishin’s talented mouth. He pushes down and draws back with long smooth rocks, pulling off to tongue and lick the head with his hand twisting around the base, and Asahi’s breath has gone short and desperate when he grips Keishin’s shoulder, panting his name in warning –

Keishin pulls off completely.

Asahi gulps great lungfuls of air, trying not to pull out all his own hair.

“Tell me, man-bun,” Keishin rasps hoarsely, smirking between his legs. Fuck, Asahi’s cock is just resting on his chin, livid red and weeping in grief that he’s stopped.

“It’s embarrassing,” Asahi whimpers, closing his eyes.

“You’re allowed to want whatever the fuck you want. If you don’t want me to talk that way, I won’t. If you do want, then want. ”

With great effort, Asahi uncurls his toes. They ache under the treatment, and the tiny pangs of pain centre him. “I don’t not want,” he admits in a whisper.

“Good enough for now,” Keishin says, and sinks down with one breath, sucking till his jaw must ache as he draws upward. It only takes another three strokes, the last one deep enough for his sharp nose to brush the crest of bone, for Asahi to whimper a warning again. He tugs at Keishin’s hair – he gently discourages Asahi’s fingers and lets them cling to his hand instead – and comes, a surge of fire gutting him from head to toes and leaving him slumping back on the couch, panting like he’s played five straight sets.

“Oh my god,” he whispers when he gets his breath back. “You know…you know last year, when you said not to keep cooking, otherwise you’d starve when I left?”

“Yeah?” Keishin replies hoarsely, finishing Asahi’s green tea where he’d left it on the coffee table and rubbing his jaw.

“Same applies.” He grins helplessly.

“My cunning plan,” Keishin says, rising carefully and sitting with legs splayed, jeans far too tight.

Asahi’s grin widens, delighted at the ridiculousness of normal sex with someone he likes so much, and pulls on his boxers as he settles on his knees. Keishin’s eyes go crow-black so quickly that Asahi can’t help but make a production of it, teasing the zip down with a confidence he had no idea he possessed – the miracle of being wanted – and whispering manufacture details about the denim, the stitch count and how Levi’s stonewashes, as he runs his hands up muscled thighs.

“God, you’re killing me,” Keishin groans, fingers clawing into the couch.

“Returning the favour,” Asahi tells him, gently pulling Keishin out of jeans and boxers. “Is this okay?”

“More than, but only if you are.”

Asahi pauses. Now he’s here, between Keishin’s thighs with the man’s cock in front of his face…it’s intimidating. Keishin isn’t heavily muscled but he’s no twig, and his cock is long and bold, red at the tip and veins crisscrossing under the flared head. And to be this vulnerable, kneeling with his hair down…he rarely did this in Tokyo precisely because he knew what might be said to him. But this is _Keishin_.

“I’ve…done this before, but n-not sober. Is there…anything you don’t like?” Asahi gathers himself and opens his mouth to lap the flat over his tongue over the head.

“Fuck!” Keishin jolts, grabbing Asahi’s shoulders. He holds still, waiting. “God, okay. Go as slow as you need. Mind your teeth, yeah? Bin’s just there if you want to spit. I’m gonna hold your hair?”

“Yes please.” Asahi takes a breath and licks again. Keishin groans, hands curling into his hair but not enough to direct him.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous like this. Do you feel okay?”

Cheeks still on fire, Asahi nods. “It’s you.”

“You’re definitely going to be the death of me,” groans Keishin as Asahi takes the head into his mouth and sucks, lips drawn carefully over teeth.

Keishin’s voice is rough and wrecked from Asahi’s cock, sparking brightly down Asahi’s spine. Asahi flicks his tongue under the head, gripping Keishin’s cock around the base and stroking a little, trying to remember the faceless, nameless trysts where this had happened before. Slow is good, suck now as you pull back, try and follow with your hand…

Keishin groans low again, tightening his hands in Asahi’s hair when Asahi takes the head fully into his mouth and pushes down. He has to draw back fairly quickly, though, and already his jaw is beginning to wonder what he’s doing, but the thump of his heart must be shaking the whole house as Keishin’s abs tense in the V of his open fly. With another breath, Asahi takes him deeper and pulls back, repeats, laves with his tongue when he pulls in air through his nose…Keishin swears again but his hips are still, muscles bunching under the strain of not startling Asahi.

No teeth, careful, but a little deeper, ignore the spasm as Keishin’s cock presses further. Asahi squeezes with his hand and sucks, the taste bitter and musky in open afternoon air, utterly different to stuffy acrid bathrooms.

“Asahi, you’re so fucking stunning, how did I ever let you out of my bed?” Keishin rasps, hands so tight pinpricks of pleasure-pain shimmer over Asahi’s scalp. He groans at a tug and Keishin swears again, even though spit is beading at the corner of Asahi’s mouth and he can’t go deeper than half without fear of choking; how is this any good for Keishin? But he’s panting above Asahi, cursing under his breath, and Asahi has to trust him so he pulls in another breath, pushes further, and _drags_ back slowly with as much suction as he can as the weight of Keishin’s cock on his tongue overrides everything in his head.

“Shit, Asahi, close, I’m so close, careful,” Keishin hisses, thighs shaking.

Thank god – Asahi adores Keishin, but his jaw is killing him, his knees ache, and unlike the soothing repetitiveness of jump serve practice, he wants to be better now, quicker, sooner. He wants to make this even better for Keishin as he bobs once, twice, and then the hands in his hair tighten past pleasure into pain as Keishin tenses and comes with a warning shout of his name. Heat and bitterness fills Asahi’s mouth, and he does his best to swallow, but when Keishin’s hands relax he has to pull away and spit the rest into the bin, coughing.

“Sorry,” he rasps, wiping his mouth. “I don’t think that was very good –”

Hands under his jaw turn his face to Keishin’s and the kiss is odd and bitter but still a kiss with Keishin.

“Do you know how many dreams I’ve hated myself for that include that exact moment?”

Asahi blinks. “You dreamt about me?”

“…Not the part I expected you to latch onto,” Keishin grins, still breathing heavily, “but yes, of course I did. Shit, come up on the couch, I think I need a nap. And that was the hottest thing I’ve seen since this morning, by the way, when your back arched so much that my hand wasn’t even touching the mattress.”

Asahi can’t quite parse all that with his head in the clouds, but _ohhh_ …

A nap sounds perfect right about now, and he hides his red face in Keishin’s neck as they settle awkwardly onto the battered old couch.

“I should see my aunts later,” he says, sweeping his hair under him so Keishin won’t wake with it in his mouth again. That they’ve even slept together, in bed, normally, like everything he never allowed himself to imagine, enough that there’s an _again_ is something Asahi tucks inside himself to marvel over later when his brain won’t explode. 

“Uh huh,” Keishin mumbles. “D’you want company?”

“Not yet,” he answers, smiling. “But thanks.”

The nap probably throws the likelihood of sleeping well tonight out of the window: they wake up an hour later muzzily languid, and Asahi showers and walks out the door as Keishin spreads some neglected volleyball formations over the table.

The walk to his aunts’ place is cold but clear, the starry evening and chill wind making everything seem that much more present – his happiness and his soreness both. Reaching the door, Asahi fishes out his keys and calls out as he unlocks it.

“Asahi? Is that you?” Mae sticks her head out of the lounge, staring.

“It’s me, Aunt Mae,” he smiles, stepping out of his shoes. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Of course not, welcome home. Is anything wrong? Sae! Asahi’s home!” She yells the last up the stairs as she comes forward to greet him.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” he says, and feels his smile widen. “Everything’s…fine. Everything’s perfect.”

Mae blinks.

Sae appears from her painting room, floating down the stairs. “Asa-chan? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Aunt Sae,” he says, laughing and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry to make you worry. I just came to say hello, since I’m here.”

“And why are you here?” Mae asks, chivvying him into the kitchen and putting on the kettle. “Haven’t you got school?”

“Oh…” Sae breathes, cupping Asahi’s face in her hands. “Goodness, Asa-chan…”

“Can’t hide anything from you,” he says ruefully, submitting to the inspection.

“Certainly not that love-bite under your jaw, dearest,” Sae replies serenely, and Mae spits out her coffee.

* * *

“How’d it go?” Keishin calls from the kitchen when Asahi closes the door behind him. “Do I need to arm myself with a volleyball wherever I go?”

“Of course not,” Asahi smiles. “They were surprised, but happy. I told you, they’ve been waiting for me to bring someone home for years. Now Mae will lecture you about 17th century warfare and Sae will paint something you never knew you wanted, and I can guarantee it’ll be nicer than any fuchsia vase.”

Keishin barks out a laugh, slipping an arm around Asahi’s waist and drawing him in. “Looking forward to it.”

Asahi loops his arms around Keishin in return. “I…can’t believe I can…that we can…do this – have this. Talking about it to my aunts…they were a little worried at first, but then I guess they…” he trails off, blushing again.

“Saw how you can’t stop smiling? How there’s the dimple in your left cheek that doesn’t come out unless you’re too happy to be fully shy about something? How you’re too fucking good for anyone, let alone me?”

“Everything except the last,” Asahi says, tightening the fists he has in Keishin’s hoodie.

Keishin exhales like he would with a cigarette. “Be patient, Asahi. We’ll get there, it just might be a while.”

“As long as it takes,” Asahi murmurs, eyes closed against Keishin’s cheek.

“Not as long as this stew, I swear,” Keishin sighs, ducking away to glance at the pot, but if he means to stop Asahi seeing his nose go pink, it doesn’t work.

“You’re got morning training tomorrow, don’t you?” Asahi asks, letting it go. They still have their little cracks and flaws, after all, but time and familiarity will sew them together.

“Yeah, and the store, and afternoon training. I’m afraid a whole day lazing around naked with you is going to have to wait, so let’s go out after.”

“Sounds perfect,” Asahi sighs, and it is. Friday night is busy enough that they can sit close at the counter, thighs pressed together and heads tipped close to hear over the bustle, fingers brushing as they pass sauces.

Saturday means that there’s only morning practice, and Asahi wanders through a few sketches, pacifies Emi, and cleans absentmindedly until Keishin sweeps back into to their little bubble. It’s a good thing Asahi was just wearing a pair of Keishin’s old sweatpants and a t-shirt, because he’d wince to see any other clothes flung so hurriedly to the floor.

“How…how much sex are you m-meant – ah! – to have in a day?” Asahi pants hours later, thighs burning viciously as he trembles down and up again, and down to rest over Keishin’s hips even though that, oh fuck, oh god, sinks Keishin even deeper.

Keishin groan-laughs, almost as wrecked as Asahi is. “Statistically or…?”

Asahi’s elbow gives out and he catches himself on Keishin’s chest. Keishin swears, supporting him as best he can. “Can’t…numbers…” Asahi gulps, body a mass of oversensitivity unsure if this is the best thing he’s ever felt, or if he should lie down in a dark room where even the whisper of air over his skin might be too much. Is this his third…? His dick is red and aching, pressed between their stomachs, and where their bodies are joined is lightning up his spine, tender and electric the same way a bruise invites pressure, to be sure it still means something. 

“You can come once more, yeah?” Keishin’s voice is low and rough, his favourite tone, and so Asahi tells him, brain to mouth connection utterly severed as mouth to cock connection quivers like a plucked harpstring the more Keishin’s hips hitch up into him. “So phone sex is definitely an option,” Keishin chuckles, sweeping the curtain of Asahi’s hair futilely back behind his ear. It spills forward as Asahi shudders down and up again, thighs aching as pleasure-pain spills over his entire body.

“K-Keishin,” he gasps.

“I know we’ll see each other – that’s right, and again – when you go back and we’ll work this out – you’re so stunning like this, one more, fuck, Asahi – but that means I can’t touch you and make you gasp – just like that, yes, you’re so fucking hot, so I’m going to make sure I can remember each and every time I’ve seen you come, you can do it once more, yeah? You’re so good, so perfect, the ace every time, fuck you feel so good, can you do it, Asahi? Can you come once more?”

“Yes,” Asahi pants, rocking into sensation as Keishin thrusts up, crooning to him, and he wants to, oh god he wants to, but his legs aren’t going to hold him for long, thighs trembling almost beyond endurance and knees cramping. “Wait, Keish-Keishin, I can’t –”

“Yes, you can, of course you can…”

“I can – I c-can, but my legs, ah f-fuck…”

“I know,” he whispers. “Yeah, fuck I know, here, sit back,” and he sits up until Asahi’s astride his lap, and this way Asahi can drape himself over Keishin’s shoulders, silent except for each shuddering gasp driven out of his chest by the rhythm of Keishin’s hips. Then there’s a hand on his oversensitive cock, and it takes two strokes and Keishin’s mouth pressed to his ear, husky praise everything Asahi never knew he needed more than the oxygen in his straining lungs, for him to come like it’s being ripped and wrung out of him. Tension snaps tight and leaves him breathless, floating untethered to his shaking body in a white haze of delirious delight.

Asahi comes back to himself, still draped over Keishin whose chest is heaving as badly as Asahi’s. “Oh my god…” he mumbles into Keishin’s shoulder. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Keishin pants a huffed laugh. “I think – I think two is enough for me, and you, you incredible thing, can thank your youthful twenty-one for three. Fuck, I’d…I’d better not have a heart attack right now, that would really…piss me off.”

Asahi kisses the side of his head and collapses sideways. Oh Christ, he is _sore_. His thighs and knees, mostly, but his ass, god… “If your cunning plan was to make it impossible for me to sit down on the bus…” he mumbles, stretching his legs out.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Keishin murmurs, flopping back beside him. “It’s a brilliant plan, now you mention it, but not my intention. But I’m driving you back tomorrow, so we’ll pack a cushion.” He obviously feels Asahi inhale to argue, and flails a hand around until it lands on Asahi’s stomach. “Don’t, man-bun. I’m dropping you back in Tokyo, alright? Do you think I could’ve kissed you how I wanted to at the station?”

“I’d like that,” he murmurs. He can hold Keishin’s hand in the car, too. “We might just stick together, though, at this rate.”

Keishin snorts, patting a hand over his bedside till he finds the wipes Asahi unearthed from the bathroom cabinet earlier. “Wake me in an hour, and we can call for takeaway or something.”

It’s so warm, curled here together…Keishin smells of sweat and musk where Asahi curves down to tuck his face into Keishin’s neck, and the scent is so familiar it almost doesn’t register after the first few long deeps breaths. The sex smell is new, though before he can contemplate it properly and enjoy the lassitude taking over his limbs, Asahi drops straight asleep.

His phone wakes them an hour later, autumn sun slanting in through the blinds.

“Wassa…?” Keishin mumbles, tugging a pillow over his face. Asahi hisses as he stretches out aching legs and reaches, but it’s just an email from one of his fashion subscriptions.

“Should we wake up?” he asks Keishin softly, who already seems to have dozed off. The light spills over his hair and oh, he’s so beautiful it makes Asahi’s heart hurt. Three days into the relationship and he’s already taking art-house photographs of his lover in the golden sun – wait, should he ask first? What if Keishin doesn’t like having his photo taken? What if he thinks it’s an invasion of privacy, when he’s sleeping?

“Wha’re you worried about?”

Asahi looks up from his phone as a rough thumb sweeps over his cheek. “Nothing, I…” he swallows, looks into Keishin’s knowing eyes. “Um…?”

He offers the screen and Keishin squints, rubbing at one eye, before – he _blushes_? His nose crinkles and he huffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “What’s that for?”

“Because you’re you,” Asahi tells him reverently, turning the phone back and admiring the picture. “Do…do you mind? Can I keep it?”

Keishin tugs Asahi off his elbows and onto Keishin’s chest. “I mean, I guess, if you want to...”

“Yes please,” Asahi says immediately, beaming. Keishin huffs again, reaching for the phone. Asahi lets him take it, curious, and Keishin flips the camera around, threading a hand through Asahi’s hair.

“Smile,” he murmurs, and Asahi’s heart explodes messily as he snuggles into Keishin’s neck.

“Oh my god, Keishin…”

“What?” his boyfriend laughs, taking another. He feels a kiss pressed to his forehead, and gathers enough composure to at least look up once for the camera, red as Nekoma.

“Okay, okay,” he whines, making grabby hands at the phone. Keishin surrenders it, grinning, and Asahi pulls up the camera roll –

Oh.

“Don’t make me cry,” he whispers, shoving his arms under Keishin for a proper hug. Keishin kisses him again, and takes back to the phone to send himself the pictures: how did Asahi ever get so, so lucky? How is it possible to be this happy? Suga talked about the honeymoon period, where everything is drenched in gold; he never thought it would really be like this.

“Never,” Keishin murmurs. “Only from overstimulation.”

The laugh is almost punched out of Asahi, softening the charged tension. “Come on,” he says, pressing his lips to the nearest cheekbone, “let’s get some dinner.”

They sleep curled up together again, Keishin’s arm draped over his waist and Asahi’s pillow tugged a little further down than usual so he can tuck himself under Keishin’s chin, eight centimetres be damned. It’s going to take some getting used to. He’s faced with a whole stretch of empty bed when he’s just started to learn what it’s like to go to sleep with someone, but they have time.

When they wake, Keishin has turned onto his stomach, and Asahi is once more curled over his broad, warm back.

“Sorry,” he mutters groggily and rolls off as Keishin shifts beneath him.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” Keishin murmurs, gathering him close.

The morning stretches as far as they can make it, but since Keishin has to drive back after driving four hours to Tokyo, they can’t really delay too much longer. Asahi slips into the passenger seat, glad Keishin’s checking the mailbox and doesn’t notice the snail’s pace Asahi adopts to perch on the promised cushion. There’s not a single moment he’d change, but…he is tender. A helpless smile curves Asahi’s mouth as he thinks, _We’ll just need to practice_ , and he looks to the driver’s door as Keishin opens it.

“Oh, hell,” Keishin mutters, lunging over the gearstick to press a fierce kiss to the corner of Asahi’s smile, then his mouth, then his cheekbone, then his mouth again. “Don’t start with me, Azumane, otherwise we’ll never get to Tokyo.”

Blinking a little dazedly, Asahi flicks open a fan in the cupholder and holds it in front of his face. Keishin laughs as he starts the car, settling a hand on Asahi’s knee once he’s out of the small residential streets. The fan is furled and returned, and Asahi threads their fingers together as his heart swells too large for his chest.

He’s never felt like this before, like his body is too small for the joy inside him. Growing up to be six foot in a country where everything is built for shorter statures means he’s more often gangly and out of place. Here, though, in Keishin’s rattly little car, despite the fact both of their heads brush the roof, he feels like there’s nowhere else he’s meant to be.

Keishin takes the scenic route down, avoiding the motorway. They trundle down the backroads, windows cracked so Asahi’s hair dances in the breeze. Every so often Keishin reaches over to sweep it back behind his ear and Asahi ducks his cheek into his boyfriend’s palm, smiling, smiling, smiling, and Keishin smiles too, helpless, and fits their fingers back together on Asahi’s knee.

Radio and stories, scenery and memories: they talk like it’s their first date, like they haven’t lived together for three months and know Keishin has to fold laundry right off the line otherwise he forgets completely, and Asahi still has to throw salt at the vacuum before using it thanks to breaking a toe on one as a child. Like they haven’t seen each other at six in the morning with sleep in their eyes and eleven at night with rumpled pyjamas. Like they haven’t already seen each other naked, bruises still dotting Asahi’s thighs and scratches down Keishin’s back.

“But why did you go down to the river if you were scared of kappa?” Keishin asks, grinning.

“I was more afraid of being left alone and being eaten by yokai than I was of following Nishinoya and being eaten by kappa,” Asahi laughs sheepishly, shading his face as the afternoon sun slants in through the roadside trees. “Poor Noya must have put up with a great deal from me.”

Keishin chuckles and lifts Asahi’s hand to his mouth.

“It was the scarf, by the way,” he says twenty minute later as the latest pop singer croons about finding his girlfriend.

“Hmm?”

“I knew you were at least _affected_ by last January when you blushed after that kid knocked us down the hill at the graduation,” Keishin says, squeezing Asahi’s fingers and tapping his other hand on the wheel to the radio. “But when you gave me your second scarf in November, knowing I’d forgotten mine, well…I knew you felt something more than just the rush of drunken want.”

Asahi blushes at the memory, the way the wind was cold on his cheeks as they left Aunt Sae and the way his chest was warm as Keishin complimented his family and walked close, shoulder to shoulder. But Keishin sighs, and it sounds too resigned for their golden bubble.

“And I was afraid.”

“Of what?” Asahi asks. “I mean, if there’s anything I’m an expert on, it’s nerves.”

Keishin laughs a little wryly. “Give yourself some credit, man-bun. You’re the ace, after all. No…it sounds stupid, and believe me, I heard enough pointed sideways comments from Shimada, but I was afraid of how _good_ it was, to spend those months with you.”

Asahi stares out at the fields, green, brown, yellow, rolling past them. “I know what you mean,” he says softly. “It’s too good, so there has to be a catch, and if it’s that good, it would be worse for it to fall apart than it would to not have it in the first place.”

The hand in his tightens a little painfully, and he looks back round to smile. “But the ball hasn’t fallen yet.”

He cups Keishin’s hand in both of his and raises it to press a kiss to clever setter fingers.

But even though it feels like it’s just the two of them in the world, eventually the bright lights of Tokyo appear on the horizon as the road gets busier. Keishin has to put both hands on the wheel about an hour out as the road becomes an onramp to a freeway, so Asahi swallows his nerves and puts his on Keishin’s thigh.

Thanks to Tokyo traffic, it takes another hour and a half to get to Asahi’s apartment – and he means the gratitude sincerely. If he’d had his way, the traffic would have been worse and they could have stretched their time out even more.

“Welcome,” Asahi says as they walk into his apartment, glad he’d at least done the washing up the morning he left.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Keishin murmurs.

“It’s not much,” he says, “but I don’t have a roommate.” Keishin throws him a sly look and Asahi flushes again, shrugging. “I’m just saying…Do you want some tea?”

As soon as he puts the kettle on, Keishin tugs him close and kisses him stupid against the counter. How did he ever, ever, get so lucky? Asahi clings close, hazily thinking of every surface in his apartment that’s capable of withstanding the weight of two adults. Not the table, then, and probably not this kitchen counter, but it’ll definitely cope with someone sitting on it – and he might have to get a carpet to cushion his knees but oh, anticipation makes embers spark in his belly – and the bed, of course, and the couch…

The whistle of the kettle startles them both, and Asahi laughs at their red mouths, touching his lips as he slides reluctantly out between Keishin and the counter. Keishin laughs too at the sight of the deer mug and Asahi cradles it protectively as they curl on the couch, his legs tossed over Keishin’s lap. 

“God, I thought I was too old to be this crazy,” Keishin mutters against Asahi’s mouth. Asahi kisses him again, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as gently as he can and relishing the sound low in Keishin’s chest, the way it makes the hand in his hair tighten thrillingly.

“I’ll…I’ll be back for New Year,” Asahi manages, once he’s reclaimed his tongue. “Will you be down before?”

Keishin hums, kissing down Asahi’s neck. “I think…I can get away…for a weekend…after prelims. If we get through again…maybe I can bribe Specs to take the team back and I can stay a few days longer…”

Asahi quivers in Keishin’s hold, goosebumps rippling across his skin as Keishin mouths at the soft hollow behind his ear. The chuckle is low and wicked, and he grips convulsively at Keishin’s jeans. “Don’t tempt me, darlin’. I have to get back before it gets too late…don’t want to start anything I can’t finish…”

“Will you…let me know when you’re back safe?” Asahi asks muzzily, ducking his head to fill his lungs with as much of Keishin’s cologne as he can.

“Yeah,” Keishin agrees softly, sweeping the curtain of hair back from Asahi’s face. “I’d better head off…”

Five minutes later, he pulls his mouth away from Asahi’s collarbone to pant, “I should probably…”

Five minutes after that, Asahi groans, “Be careful driving in the dark,” into the curve of Keishin’s neck as the couch creaks below them.

Twenty minutes after _that_ , Keishin staggers to his feet, refastens his jeans, and rasps, “Right, I really, really, have to go.”

“Mmm,” Asahi agrees blearily. “At least…that’s the couch ticked off.”

Keishin falls against the wall as he snorts with laughter, cheeks flushed post-orgasm and eyes bright, hair an absolute mess – but probably not as bad as Asahi’s. “Don’t you dare,” he wheezes, “and stop looking so edible. I really need to get going.”

Asahi hauls himself up off the couch and tosses the collection of tissues into the bin, grimacing at the feel on denim on sticky thighs. He leaves his jeans unbuttoned: they’re going straight into the laundry anyway.

“Do you have everything?” he asks as Keishin completes his pat-down.

“Think so,” Keishin says, curling a hand round the back of Asahi’s neck to bring him down for a kiss. It’s softer this time, long and lingering, the way it needs to be for the month or two of deprivation they’ll have to face. “If not, what a shame.”

Asahi smiles against his mouth. “If you drive tired, no curry for a month.”

“Laying down the law already, darlin’?”

“I told you,” Asahi murmurs, kissing the tip of Keishin’s nose, “I want you in one piece. Are you really okay with me telling Nishinoya?”

“Just give me fair warning, but sure,” Keishin grins, fumbling behind him for the doorknob. “Stop looking so good, I have to go!”

Asahi ducks his head, bites his lip, kisses Keishin once fast once slow, and shoves him out the door before any more hands can wander.

“You’re a wretch, Asahi!” Keishin calls through the door, laughing.

“You’re wonderful, Keishin!”

“Oh, fuck me,” Asahi hears through the wood, and smile-laugh-cries into the hand he claps over his mouth. “See you soon, darlin’.”

Asahi wrenches the door open, kisses Keishin once more, tells him to drive safe, and jerks it shut once more to collapse against it. He’s so much more than fine he feels like he could go five sets all alone against Inarizaki, Shiratorizawa and Itachiyama at once.

He’s always called himself a crow, but this time, it finally feels like he has wings.


	5. Epilogue

“Alright, just _what_ is going – what happened to your face?” As usual Emi pulls no punches.

“What about my face?” Asahi asks, feeling the helpless smile start tugging at his mouth.

“That!” Emi shrieks, pointing. “A smile! After six months!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he sighs, ushering her inside. “I just had to go home to sort some things out.”

Thank god the lecture seats are padded. Instantly, he thinks of Keishin, and the smile widens. Would it be weird to text him? How much is too much? When does thinking of someone become bothering them? But if he doesn’t, will Keishin know Asahi’s thinking of him?

_God_ – he sends a swift sticker of a crow fluffing itself up in front of some books and resolves to ask (stumble, mumble, blush and stammer) tonight.

“I’m going to get it out of you eventually,” Emi warns as Ikari walks in.

Asahi doesn’t doubt it, but he has someone to tell first.

He lasts until the weekend, talking to Keishin every evening and texting sporadically through the day, usually while Keishin’s in Sakanoshita. Then, a combination of the joy in his chest and Nishinoya’s latest photo in Goa makes Asahi pick up the phone.

Nishinoya would do this. He’d be brave enough, and weird as it is to use Nishinoya’s confidence as a benchmark when talking to Nishinoya, it helps as it always does.

“Hey!”

“Hi,” he says, smiling at the beaming grin on the screen. “How are you?”

“Good! Man, the beaches here are great! And the colours and the smells, oh my god I think I ate my body weight in food it was so good!”

He laughs, listening as Nishinoya recounts the menu in delighted detail.

“– but enough about me,” he says suddenly, peering through the camera into Asahi’s soul. “Did you have something you wanted to talk about?”

Asahi rubs the back of his neck, biting his lip. Nearby is his mug, on the bedside are his keys, tattered keyring still here after all these years. “I, uh…yeah, I sort of wanted…um…”

“How’s your boyfriend?” Nishinoya asks knowingly.

“It’s Keishin,” Asahi blurts, blushing brightly as fear and anticipation and nerves all go crazy inside him like colours in a kaleidoscope.

Nishinoya blinks. “…Who’s Keishin?”

Asahi blinks back. “Um…Ukai. Ukai Keishin?”

“UKAI KEISHIN?” Nishinoya hollers at the top of his lungs, sitting bolt upright and staring so closely at the phone Asahi can only see his eyebrow. “YOU MEAN LIKE UKAI COACH UKAI? THE YOUNG ONE RIGHT NOT THE OLD ONE? COACH AS IN OUR COACH VOLLEYBALL UKAI?”

“Yes, Noya, please don’t yell so loud,” Asahi pleads. “Yes, um, Ukai Keishin, of course the younger one!”

“YOU’RE DATING OUR COACH?”

“Ex-coach,” he points out hurriedly, nerves starting to overtake everything and cold sweat pricking the back of his neck. “Um…yes, I guess I am? Not that he’s our coach anymore, but, um, yes, I am dating him…” he goes bright crimson at saying this to another person, a _friend._ “We’re together.”

It sounds like a squeaky toy is being stepped on, on the other side of the call. He can’t do this, what was he even thinking –

“And you _slept_ with him?” Nishinoya yelps, and Asahi drops the phone. “Like…I guess he’s pretty hot?”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” he hisses, scrambling to pick it up again. “ _Nishinoya_!”

“But…why?”

Asahi’s heart sinks as he manages to get a look at the phone: Nishinoya’s abruptly shifted into that serious, match-point stare. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean…our coach? Isn’t he, like, way older?”

“He’s only thirty,” Asahi protests. “I’ll be twenty-two in a few months!”

“When did you even start liking him?” Nishinoya’s eyes go wide. “Not when we were –”

“No, of course not!” Asahi covers his face, trying to breathe. “I just…I got to know him before I went to Tokyo, and then when I stayed with him last year…I just, I _like_ him, Nishinoya…he’s kind and funny and confident and caring and…”

He trails off, and after a moment of silence dares to glance at the screen. Nishinoya is still staring, but like a libero’s trying a backcourt set and not like he’s missed a serve.

“Asahi…”

He peeks through his fingers.

“You look happy!” Nishinoya beams at him. “Are you happy?”

Eyes prickling, Asahi blinks hurriedly and nods, dropping his hand to smile a wobbly smile. “I can’t believe how much, sometimes.”

“Tell me everything,” Nishinoya commands. “Even the sex parts.”

“Except the sex parts!” Asahi protests, going red again. But it feels so good to finally be able to share the whole story, and the words tumble out like he’s taken a mallet to a dam inside him. Nishinoya listens the whole way through.

“…and then I thought of what you would do,” he finishes, finding himself unexpectedly hoarse, “and I asked if it was alright to text him so much, and he said it made him happy, so I think that’s fine now? It makes me happy too, so I’m glad. It’s really hard being away from him, so soon after starting this, but…” Asahi smiles to himself. “I’m just glad I can have him at all.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d ever seduce my coach, but I’m glad too,” Nishinoya says.

“What?” Asahi yelps, spilling his water over his knees. “I did not!”

“Yes you did! You got your man!”

Asahi hides his face in his knees, groaning.

“But I’m serious, Asahi,” Nishinoya says, sounding it. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy. Are you sure?”

He looks up. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Nishinoya grins. “Good. You deserve it, ace!”

A last weight is lifted from his shoulders, and Asahi can feel his breath come just that bit easier. “Thanks, Yuu,” he says softly. “It really means a lot to me.”

“I’ll see you in November,” Nishinoya says, then his face falls. “Wait a second, what am I supposed to call him? I can’t go out to dinner with you guys! Coaches don’t have first names, I can’t talk to him about ramen before you guys go home and fuck!”

Asahi squeaks and hangs up reflexively, and doesn’t feel that bad about it – much. But Nishinoya sends a sticker of a kitten falling over and a laugh-till-you-cry face, and he can’t stop the smile. 

Sprawling out over his bed, Asahi lets the relief sink into his bones. Thank god. Nishinoya still likes him, is happy for him; isn’t freaking out or disgusted…

He flips over onto his front and props himself up on his elbows as he brings up another video call.

“Hey, man-bun,” Keishin says a moment later. He’s in the sitting room, hair out of the band he keeps it in for work and training. Asahi’s heart skips a beat and he smiles, biting his lip to stop it turning into something too sappy.

“Hi,” he murmurs. “How was your day?”

“Alright,” Keishin answers. “Had to fight the potato suppliers again, you know the ones.”

“Are they still quarrelling over the duties?” Asahi asks, exasperated, and Keishin rolls his eyes.

“Aiming for a world record, the way they’re going. But anyway…work was fine, nothing too interesting. No kids making out in the back shelves. Met up with Tattsun and Shimada for dinner, by the way, and you were right, he is _unbelievably_ smug.”

Asahi winces sympathetically through a smile. “Really? How…did they take it okay?”

Keishin laughs, then rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I’ve got a bruise where Tattsun whacked me in the shoulder, but it was a good-for-you kind of punch, not a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-to-your-kohai type. Shimada sat there like a cat with the cream, but he was happy too. Takeda might kill me, but that’s a conversation for another month when I’ve got my will in order. They say hi, and if you ever need anything to just call them. I think Shimada meant it also in a kind-of, _if Keishin does anything you don’t like call me_ way, so there’s that.”

Asahi frowns. “I appreciate it, but I don’t think I’ll need to.”

On the screen, Keishin glances away for a moment, mouth thin.

“What is it?” Asahi asks, anxiety suddenly sharp in his stomach. “Keishin?”

“You have so much faith in me, Asahi,” Keishin says eventually, examining his fingertips. “Which one of us just failed a relationship?”

Sitting up properly, Asahi reaches out for his Karasuno keychain for luck. “Keishin,” he says, “I just got off the phone with Nishinoya.”

Keishin’s eyes widen. “And?”

He smiles. “He was glad. Happy for me. A little startled, but I guess that’s normal. He asked if I was sure, and if I was happy. I am.” Asahi touches the screen, wishing fiercely he was there to smooth away that frown in person, lessen the tension along those muscled shoulders – capable of supporting his weight; he knows, they checked. “And I’m here too. There’s two of us. I’m sorry if I made you feel like there was any pressure, or expectation, or, um, some need to perform? But you’re not a coach with me, or a setter. You just have to be you, and we’ll work it out together.”

Silence for a long moment, and then Keishin groans and flops sideways on the couch.

“I’m sorry, was that too much?” Asahi asks, blushing and awkwardly ducking his head.

“I’d kill to kiss you right now, Asahi,” Keishin says softly, and Asahi looks up again to see him smiling that lopsided smile, nose crinkled.

“Me too,” he admits quietly, curling onto his side. “I miss you.”

Keishin groans. “Wanna have phone sex?”

Asahi bursts out laughing and Keishin joins in, four hundred kilometres apart and together all the same.

* * <3 * *

He wakes to the spill of sunlight and soft snores in his ear. The arm across his waist is warm compared to the November chill coming down from the mountains, and if Asahi wasn’t so excited for the game he’d coax Keishin into staying in bed all day.

The floor is cold when he finally slips out from under the covers, and Asahi tugs the knitted throw off the bed to wrap around his shoulders as he gets the coffee started. His new glasses fog up in the steam, and Asahi clicks his tongue, taking them off to wipe them carefully. Tsukishima had given him a few tips the last time they’d met up, but Asahi is honestly so forgetful when he’s in the middle of a design project that Keishin remembers where he put them more than Asahi does. _On top of your head, man-bun_ , has become something of an embarrassing staple in their conversations.

“Mornin’,” Keishin murmurs, padding into the kitchen. He sweeps Asahi’s hair aside and presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Morning,” Asahi replies, leaning back into him. “Coffee?”

Keishin hums, kissing him again before turning to riffle through the fridge. “Please. Eggs?”

“Please,” Asahi agrees, pouring another cup. His own battered deer mug is sweetened just enough, with a dash of milk. “How’s your ankle?”

Keishin flexes it consideringly as he warms last night’s rice. “Stiff, but fine. Can you – thanks.” He accepts the ginger and adds a sliver to the miso, coming to a simmer on the stove. “You and the team still going out after the game today?”

Asahi nods. “As far as I know. Tsukishima’s going to join us for a bit but he and Kuroo-san will leave early for Kuroo-san’s birthday dinner.”

“Oh, a JVA higher-up coming to one of the season’s opening games? Interesting.”

He sets the table and retrieves an icepack from the freezer so Keishin can rest his ankle on Asahi’s thigh and ice it before they go out. Recreational or not, throwing yourself over some stacked chairs for a stray ball is not the smartest option. “Well, his best friend _is_ playing. I don’t know if Kuroo-san’s there officially.”

“Black Jackals versus Adlers,” Keishin muses, handing Asahi his bowl. “What do you think?”

“Don’t ask me,” he groans. “Suga’s already been stressing, he says it’s like asking a mother to pick her favourite child.” 

Keishin laughs. “I can imagine. I think…based on individual skill, the Adlers come out on top, but for combination plays the Jackals might just take it.”

“Oh?” Asahi teases, squeezing gently at Keishin’s heel. “Sounds like you know something about volleyball, Ukai-san.”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Keishin purrs, smirking at him. “I happen to be the coach at a powerhouse school.”

“Really?” Asahi flutters his eyelashes and then peers over his glasses – a Thing for Keishin, apparently. “Are you a setter? Because I’d hit that.”

Keishin chokes on his miso. “God,” he splutters, smacking his chest. “You’ve been spending too much time with Tanaka.”

Asahi can’t deny it. “He has more: if I served my heart at you, would you receive it?” 

He can’t keep a straight face now Keishin is slumped on the table, wheezing, and the resulting kiss is miso-flavoured and much longer than intended.

“You’d better get ready,” Keishin says breathlessly, slumping back into his chair, “if you’re gonna meet Sawamura and Sugawara before the game.”

Asahi nods a little dazedly and hurries into the bathroom. “We’ve still got the appointment with the Sendai realtor tomorrow, don’t we?” he calls through the door after his shower, when he hears Keishin in their bedroom.

“Yeah,” Keishin calls back. “Nine o’clock. This one looks good, but we thought that about the last apartment without seeing it up close, so we’ll have to see.”

“Agreed,” Asahi says, easing the razor along his jaw. “An hour’s commute to the new studio in Fukushima is better than suspicious mould marks.” Their first apartment together…butterflies flutter gently in his stomach. As long as it doesn’t have two trainlines right under the window and no central heating, of course.

He steps out of the bathroom and pulls on trousers and a shirt, tucking the pendant on its long gold chain, Keishin’s gift for their two-year anniversary, securely underneath it.

“Let me,” Keishin says, grabbing a spare towel to start drying Asahi’s hair. 

“Thanks,” Asahi sighs, sitting on the bed to button his cuffs. “It’s a shame Ochako-san can’t make it today.”

“She couldn’t schedule a prenatal appointment any other time, apparently,” Keishin says. “How much do you want to bet Takeda’s going to cry before the game even starts?”

“I don’t bet on certainties,” laughs Asahi. The sleek watch on Keishin’s wrist catches the light as he works, Asahi’s own gift, and he lifts his hands to still Keishin’s.

“What?” Keishin asks, grinning. “Am I going against the part? Hate to break it to you, but I think I know your hair by now.”

Asahi just smiles. “I love you.”

He watches the answering smile crinkle Keishin’s nose. “I know,” Keishin says, bending to kiss him. “I love you too.” He grins suddenly, wide and lopsided. “I’ll always dive for you. Three touches are never enough. A tip from you has me on my toes.”

“No, what have I done,” Asahi moans, pressing his face to Keishin’s sweater.

“Are you a volleyball? Boy, I’ll hit you all night long,” Keishin continues, and Asahi wails. “Are you a net? Because you stop my heart –”

“I have to go, I’ll be late!” he yelps, squirming out from under the towel and escaping to the closet. He doesn’t have too much here, since he’s still based more in Tokyo than anywhere else until Fukushima opens next year, but he made sure to pack his nice sweater and his favourite coat for the Ultimate Destined Match today.

Behind him Keishin laughs. “Come back here and let me brush your hair, at least.”

“Like I’d say no,” Asahi grins, returning with the comb and the hairdryer. “I can do it, if you need to –”

Keishin tugs at his hair and brushes the first long, smooth stroke through before turning on the dryer. “Wearing it down?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Sounds good.”

Asahi melts at the ministrations, humming wordless agreement as stroke by careful stroke his hair is dried and brushed.

“There,” Keishin says, pleased. “Makes me not want to let you out of my bed, so I’d say ten out of ten.”

He laughs. Old habits die hard, so he still ducks his head a little, but only for a moment. After that, a new habit – tipping his chin up for a kiss.

Keishin obliges. “Have a good morning,” he says, beginning to straighten the sheets. “I’ll call you after the game.”

“Sounds good,” Asahi says, making sure he has everything. One last quick kiss, his glasses perched back on his nose, and then he hurries down the steps, waving over his shoulder. 

The station’s busy as always, and on the train Asahi can see scarfs and flags in both teams’ colours: grey, white and gold; and black with its signature claw marks. The swell of fond pride makes even the elbow jammed into his side a minor inconvenience.

He gets off with a fair chunk of the crowd at the Sendai City Gymnasium stop, and looks for Daichi and Suga. How many more familiar faces will he see today? Old friends and rivals, from Karasuno, Fukurōdani, Shiratorizawa, Nekoma, even Aoba Johsai and Date Tech? It feels like the whole world is here, or maybe just his world, and finally he’s part of it, at the forefront, instead of lagging behind as the cherry blossoms race ahead in the wind.

Asahi takes a deep breath of November air and plunges into the crowd, head held high as he looks for his family, all of them proudly waiting for a view of the summit and the two who flew high enough to pull them all up there to watch.


End file.
